Chasing The Sun
by Loten
Summary: AU, from Order of the Phoenix onwards. Hermione only wanted to learn Healing; she discovers that Professor Snape is a human being after all, and his actions dramatically shape the course of the war as events unfold. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**C****HASING THE SUN**

**_Obligatory Disclaimer: _**_If I owned any of them, believe me, things would have ended rather differently. I'm just borrowing them for a while; sadly, I have to give them back eventually.  
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_**Warnings: **Eventual SS/HG romance (only once Hermione is of age), eventual M rating, some bloody bits and bad language, eventual lemons. Don't like, don't read. 'Eventual' again, because this is another insanely long one and because these two are insanely stubborn.  
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_**Author's Notes:** This story is canon compliant up until the end of Goblet of Fire, and begins in the summer between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix. _I will be missing out many of the canon scenes unless I have a reason to want that scene from Severus' or Hermione's point of view; you all have the books, you all know what happens. Chapter lengths will vary; I write novel-style so parts don't always break down easily into separate chapters. I tend to update on average every three days or so, but I probably won't always be able to stick to that.__ _I will respond to every signed review - _please note, you now need to have private messaging enabled_ for the author to reply. And remember, every 1,000th review wins an SSHG one-shot. Criticism is accepted if it's constructive. I hope you enjoy._

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><p><strong>"The storm is upon me<br>But I'm chasing the sun..."**  
>– The Calling, 'Chasing The Sun'.<p>

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><p>It had been a very long summer.<p>

Severus sat in his living room in semi-darkness; the threadbare curtains were drawn and the only source of illumination came from the dim embers of the fire, kept burning out of necessity rather than for heat in the dim, stifling room. He stared blankly at the glowing, half-consumed logs, his dark eyes empty, and occasionally drank without enthusiasm from the bottle held loosely in one hand. Bringing his other hand up, a little stiffly, he pinched the bridge of his hooked nose with long fingers and closed his eyes for a moment.

Flames leaped up in the fireplace, and he sat forward in his chair, eyes narrowing as he drew his wand smoothly from his sleeve; a moment later the flames turned green, and he relaxed fractionally with an unsteady sigh, flicking his wand vaguely at the coloured fire. "Yes?"

"Ah, Severus. I'm glad I caught you at home. Is this a good time?" Albus Dumbledore's gratingly cheerful voice echoed oddly, disturbing the melancholy silence of the house that could pass for peace if you didn't let yourself pay attention.

_Where else would I be, you tiresome old goat? It's not as if I can go away on holiday, and I won't be Summoned until after nightfall. _Not that he had any clear idea of what the time was at the moment, admittedly. "Of course, Headmaster," he replied tonelessly, taking another drink and replacing his wand, slumping back in the battered armchair and closing his eyes.

"I wanted to speak to you before I talk to the rest of the staff. I am sorry, but once again I must decline your application for the Defence post..."

He hadn't expected anything else; he only applied out of habit, now, or maybe stubbornness. Certainly it wasn't because he thought he would get the job; Dumbledore had never actually explained his reasons, but he hadn't needed to have it spelled out to him. "And how are you going to top your previous triumphs?" he asked the flames ironically, not even bothering to open his eyes. "You've had two minions of the Dark Lord, an incompetent petty criminal and a werewolf, on top of a long string of useless idiots and certified mental patients. What next?"

"This year's appointment was not my doing."

That statement, combined with the loss of the cheerful note in his employer's voice, made Severus frown and lift his head a little to stare at the flames. "I don't have the energy for riddles. What do you mean?"

"The Minister has insisted on appointing a Defence teacher."

"What? The Ministry don't have the authority to interfere that strongly..."

"They do now," Dumbledore replied, a little grimly. "There were no other applicants, naturally, but I don't think it would have mattered if there had been... Harry's story wouldn't have been enough, by itself; Merlin knows they have had enough practice at ignoring the boy. But you confirmed his tale, Severus, although I am sure you never wished to support him; you showed Cornelius your Mark in my presence and thus made it clear that Hogwarts believes Harry. The Minister wants to keep an eye on us. Not to mention that certain members of the board of governors will not be displeased if we are kept occupied with the delights of bureaucracy for the foreseeable future."

_I might have known it would be my fault. _Sourly, he took another mouthful from the almost-finished bottle. "Fine. Who are we being saddled with? Some quill-pushing flunky?"

"Not at all. The Senior Undersecretary to the Minister herself, in fact; an august personage who goes by the delightful name of Dolores Umbridge."

Severus screwed his eyes shut, trying to think. "A dumpy woman with a face like a toad?" He had only met her once or twice that he recalled; he didn't spend much time at the Ministry if he could avoid it.

"Please don't insult the woman before she's even started, Severus. You'll have nothing to work your way up to." Dumbledore paused, before adding quietly, "I must ask you to show a little restraint, Severus, please. I have no doubt your temper will be strained, but the Ministry can make things very tiresome. I am urging everyone to co-operate with Dolores."

"May I be present when you tell Minerva that?" he asked dryly, before sighing. "Why did you agree to this, Headmaster? The very last thing we need is the Ministry sniffing around. Tell Fudge to take his paranoia and stick it up _–_"

"Severus, _please_. We cannot afford to antagonise the Ministry, at least not now. We will need them, although admittedly I sometimes find it hard to recall why."

"All right, all right. Just keep her out of my way. I'm going to have more than enough to do without having to play nicely with Fudge's pet."

"How are you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked seriously, and Severus opened his eyes to give the fire a venomous look. He really hated that question. It wouldn't be so bad if it were sincere, but he knew all the Headmaster's reasons for asking, and if there was any real concern for his health on that list it was a _very _long way down.

"Surviving, as always. The next meeting is on Tuesday?"

"Yes."

"I'll see you then, unless something important happens before then." He drew his wand once more and flicked it at the fireplace, cutting Dumbledore off before he could respond. "Bastard," he sighed, finishing his beer and leaning sideways to set the empty bottle down on the floor next to several others. So, a Ministry flunky. What fun. It was going to be difficult enough for him to juggle everything as it was, without the sodding government trying to interfere. He had a feeling there was more to this than the Headmaster was saying; nothing new there, though.

He had just settled down once more when the fireplace once more flared with green flames. "God, I'm popular today," he muttered irritably, finding his wand again and snapping ungraciously, "What?"

"Hello, Severus. It's lovely to hear your voice again as well."

He grimaced. "Poppy, I've told you, when I am back in Hogwarts you may mother me endlessly purely because I will not be able to stop you. Until then, I am on holiday. Leave me alone." Severus frowned at his unfriendly tone and tried to rein in his temper; he actually liked Poppy Pomfrey, and he didn't have so many friends that he could afford to alienate any of them.

Fortunately, the Hogwarts mediwitch had known him since he was eleven years old and was more than used to ignoring his fits of temper. "If only I could, but I need to speak to you about next term. A student has approached me about taking on an informal Healing apprenticeship, and since you are likely to be in the hospital wing a great deal I wanted to discuss it with you."

"It's not possible," he replied shortly. "End of discussion."

"Severus..."

"Poppy..." he mimicked. Sighing, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into the fire. "You know it's not possible as well as I do. I don't know why you are even asking."

"This particular student is already aware of certain details and has reasons for making this request at this time," the nurse replied carefully. Severus' black eyes narrowed as he stared at the dancing green flames, his mind clearing and his thoughts suddenly crystallising with painful clarity.

"Oh, you can't be serious. _Granger?_"

"How did you know that?"

"Give me strength," he muttered, glaring at the fire. "You know I'm not an idiot, Poppy. Who else would it be?"

"Yes, then, it's Miss Granger. She knows we are at war and she wants to help. It's not a bad idea, either; she is certainly capable, and I could use some help, and you can't deny that it would be useful to have someone close to Mr Potter who knows a bit about treating injuries given how often the boy seems to hurt himself. Especially now."

He scowled at the fire and didn't answer, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. Granger, indeed; she never could seem to learn to leave well enough alone. Still, it could have been worse. _It could have been Potter. _Now there was a thought to send a shudder down his aching back. "No."

Poppy spoke again, her tone brisk and businesslike. "If you can give me a good reason, Severus, then I shall write to her and tell her that it isn't possible. If it will jeopardise your safety, or disrupt the Order's plans, or if it will put her in danger. But if the only reason for your objection is that you just don't want her to do it, then be quiet."

He scowled again, knowing that there wasn't anything he could say. That _was_ the only reason, but he considered it quite a good one. He was the one who was going to have to face the reality of it, after all, letting the know-it-all learn to poke at him and fuss over him. She was unbearable enough as it was. No, that wasn't really fair... he didn't dislike her as much as some of his students, after all, and even he admitted that she was intelligent, albeit grudgingly. Still, there must be some way out of this...

"She's a child."

"I told her that when she first approached me," Poppy said dryly. "She wrote back and told me, and I quote, '_Okay. Please tell You-Know-Who that we're too young at the moment and could he please postpone his reign of terror for a few years until we're of age'._"

Despite himself, he snorted quietly. The girl had a point there, irritating though it was; the three of them were going to be heavily involved no matter what anyone else thought of the idea. Bollocks; he didn't have a leg to stand on, and he knew it. There really was no logical, rational reason to deny the request, but he really didn't want any of the children to know what was really happening. He wanted it kept private, and there was no way she wouldn't report every detail to the little vermin she called friends. God, it would probably end up all over the school...

"What have you already told her?" he asked coldly.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Severus Snape," she snapped. "The Headmaster informed her about the Order of the Phoenix himself, so if you have a problem with that, then take it up with him. I haven't told her about you yet; I wanted to discuss it with you first. As I said, if you can come up with a reasonable objection then it won't happen, but if you can't then I will sit down with her when term starts and explain what it really means to be a Healer in the Order."

Severus gritted his teeth; he really hated being backed into a corner. "There will be certain conditions," he growled, conceding defeat with heavy reluctance.

"I'm only going to tell her as much as she needs to know. As you so astutely pointed out, Severus, she is still a child, and I want to keep her out of the worst of it if I can. And if you're going to insist that she be sworn to secrecy, don't be insulting; do you really think she's the type to gossip? Or that I would let her?"

That was another good point. He wished it wasn't. All in all, this was not shaping up to be one of his better days. Glaring at the fire in helpless frustration, he shook his head. "We will try it," he said finally with ill grace. "If it's not working, then it stops."

"Thank you, Severus." After a pause the nurse asked gently, "Are you all right?" and he bit back a sigh. That was a slightly better question than the Headmaster's – at least he thought she actually cared a little about the answer – but not by much.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he replied irritably. "I suppose I shall see you in school. Please try to remember that you are not my mother." His lips twisted into a bitter smile at the thought as he half-heartedly responded to her farewell and closed the Floo. So, it seemed that next term he would end up serving as a live teaching aid for Granger in her endless quest to learn everything about everything in between walking a tightrope stretched between two masters, all the while dodging the Ministry's clumsy interference. What fun.

Even as the fire died down and the room turned dark and gloomy once more, agony flared in his left arm, an all too familiar sensation that started as a burn and became a deep almost stabbing pain. "Oh, that's just bloody wonderful," he spat, rubbing his arm as he stood up and Summoned his robe and mask. "A perfect end to a perfect sodding day."

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><p>Hermione wasn't sure what she had expected the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix to look like, but a terraced Georgian house in the heart of London wasn't really it. Professor McGonagall had explained before they arrived that it was Sirius' house and that it had stood empty and neglected for some time while he had been in prison and later out of the country, but even so, she had expected something... grander.<p>

To her pleased surprise, Ron was waiting on the steps outside; he'd grown again, she noted absently as she hugged him. "You didn't have to wait out here for me."

He grinned at her. "Yes, I did. Mum's got us all cleaning the house. It's grim. I was glad to get away."

"Gosh, thanks."

"No problem. Okay, so you need to know a few things... there's a portrait of Sirius' mum stuck in the hallway, and she's a right miserable old –" He glanced guiltily at his Head of House, who returned his gaze steadily, and continued, "– woman. We have to be very quiet in the hall because when she wakes up she screams abuse at everyone. I guess everything else can wait until we're upstairs with the others." He made a face. "There's not much more to say, to be honest. Nobody will tell us much."

"Because you do not need to know, Mr Weasley," McGonagall told him crisply. "Here we are, then, Miss Granger; I will leave you to your friends."

"Thank you, Professor."

Ron led her into the gloomy hall with exaggerated caution and straight up the stairs; pausing in the corridor while Hermione opened Crookshanks' carry box and let him go to explore, he listened and grimaced. "They're still working at the end of the hall, I think. Let's not go in there yet."

Hermione grinned at him. "Big spiders?"

He shuddered. "Huge. It's not funny."

She patted his shoulder and looked around as they entered the bedroom she would be sharing with Ginny. "So this is the home of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yeah, it's not much, is it?" he agreed wryly, dropping onto his sister's bed. "None of this is really what we thought it'd be. We've been talking about it all summer, but... I dunno. All we've done is clean manky rooms, and we all get sent to bed every time there's a meeting. Fred and George have been working on something to let us listen in, you'll see later, but it's not really working. We're being kept out of the way." He sighed. "The only person who's said anything except 'hello' was Dumbledore, and he just told me not to say anything to Harry, but he wouldn't tell me why."

"He wrote to me and said the same thing, too. Poor Harry... after everything that happened to him, he shouldn't be stuck there on his own."

They exchanged awkward looks before Ron changed the subject. "Did you ask Madam Pomfrey about the Healing thing?"

"Yes – she said she needs to okay it with a couple of other people first but that she thinks it should be all right. I suppose Professor Dumbledore has to agree, but I don't know who else. I should hear from her soon."

"That's good, then, I guess."

"So Sirius is here?"

Ron shrugged. "He is, but... well, you might see him later. He spends most of the time shut up in his room. He's a bit depressed – he can't go anywhere, what with being a wanted criminal and all, so he's just kind of moping around. Or fighting with Snape."

"Professor Snape's here?"

"No, thank Merlin." He shuddered and grinned wryly at her. "Nah, we've only seen him twice. He never stays long. Shows up for the meeting, then gets out of here as fast as he can. The others come by for meals and stuff sometimes, but not him, luckily."

"So who else is here?"

"Full time, just Sirius, and now us until term starts. Lupin's here quite a lot but we think he's off talking to other werewolves, you know, trying to get them not to follow You-Know-Who. We're not sure what everyone else is doing, really. There's a couple of Aurors, Kingsley and Tonks – Tonks is cool, you'll like her – and Mad-Eye's around somewhere, the _real _one this time. Dumbledore and McGonagall are here quite a bit. Hagrid's been once, but now he's off somewhere secret too. Nobody will tell us anything. I'm about ready to strangle Bill to be honest, because he's part of it and the rest of us are just treated like little kids who get sent to bed so the grown-ups can talk."

He sounded frustrated, but she didn't get a chance to reply; a voice yelled outside, "_Ron!_"

"_What?_" he yelled back, very nearly deafening Hermione, who glared at him.

"Is Hermione here yet?"

Rolling her eyes – she loved the Weasleys as if they were her own family, mostly, but she did occasionally want to kill them – she went to the half-open door and stuck her head out. "You could try asking me yourself."

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><p>Over the next few days, she understood Ron's frustration. They were all kept well away from anything remotely important, and the hours crawled past in a haze of dingy rooms filled with grimy and in some cases quite dangerous objects. She was very impressed with the Extendable Ears, but unfortunately they had only managed to use them properly once; after that, one of the adults had worked out what they were up to and laid better charms on the kitchen door. She only saw Sirius once or twice and was shocked at the change in him; he had become uncharacteristically apathetic.<p>

Mrs Black's portrait quickly became the bane of her existence. Hermione liked sitting at the bottom of the stairs to read, where she could watch the comings and goings, but if the portrait saw her then the whole house was treated to ear-splitting screams about Mudbloods polluting the house. Nobody had worked out how to shut her up except by wrestling the curtains back over her.

Towards the end of July, Madam Pomfrey arrived at Grimmauld Place and promptly hauled Hermione into an empty room. "All right, Miss Granger, you'll get your wish. If you are still willing, you will begin working with me at the start of term and training to become a Healer."

Her first impulse was to yelp with joy, but immediately the euphoria faded; she wasn't doing this for the fun of it but in case her friends were hurt. She smiled a little nonetheless. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. You don't know what you've signed up for, not yet, but I won't deny that I could use the help." The nurse eyed her for a moment before smiling. "Enough doom and gloom for now; believe me, you'll have plenty of time to be depressed later. For the moment, allow me to introduce you to the other member of our little team..." She reached into her bag and pulled out something small and square, drawing her wand and resizing what turned out to be a portrait frame. "This is Dilys Derwent, former Headmistress and a Master Healer. Dilys, this is Hermione Granger."

The woman in the portrait looked Hermione up and down thoughtfully through narrowed eyes; she was a stout witch with curly grey hair and a no-nonsense air that was utterly ruined when she grinned cheerfully. "So, Hermione, we meet at last. I've heard a lot about you. Are you half as good as they say?"

Startled, Hermione blinked before finding herself grinning back. "It depends who you've been talking to, I suppose."

"Ha. Good answer. I'm glad to meet you; welcome aboard."

"Thank you."

"You won't get a moment's peace from now on," Madam Pomfrey warned, smiling as she put the portrait back in her bag. "Dilys chatters constantly about anything and everything, she's an incurable gossip and unbelievably nosy, and has a wicked sense of humour that would shame a whore at times. But she has a good heart, can keep a secret, won't stand for nonsense and has forgotten more about Healing than I ever knew. She has been a good friend to me and I hope she will be the same to you."

"I hope so, too," Hermione agreed; she had taken an instant liking to the portrait.

"All right, that was the fun part over. Now we need to discuss this, seriously." Madam Pomfrey's smile faded as she sat forward. "This is going to be hard on you, Miss Granger. I will be calling you at odd hours in the middle of the night, and you're going to have to learn very quickly in order to be able to do everything I will need you to do. It won't be anything like a Healing apprenticeship should be. As of now, you are a wartime Healer; I won't have much time to teach you how to deal with children's sniffles and Quidditch scrapes. You'll be dealing with wounds, hexes and curses, and bad ones at that. You'll also see far more clearly than anyone should have to what long-term effects this war will have on some of the Order; you'll pick up a lot of rudimentary psychology, especially trauma-related.

"Most importantly, Hermione, if you choose to do this, you will be spending a great deal of time with Professor Snape."

"Professor Snape? Why?" she asked blankly. She was vaguely aware that the Potions master brewed most if not all of the medical potions for the hospital wing, but very few Healers learned their own brewing, so she didn't see why she would need to spend any time with him.

Madam Pomfrey looked around with a troubled expression. "What I am about to tell you is one of the most important secrets of the Order of the Phoenix," she said finally, turning an intent stare on Hermione. "You cannot breathe a word to anyone."

Confused and incredibly curious, and wondering how this related to Snape, Hermione nodded slowly. "I won't, I swear it."

The nurse nodded and sighed. "You know that Professor Snape was once a Death Eater?"

"Yes..."

"Well, as far as You-Know-Who and the other Death Eaters are concerned, he still is."

She blinked and frowned, mulling this over, before staring at the mediwitch. "A double agent?" she whispered, shocked; she hadn't really sat and thought about why Snape was in the Order or why he wasn't a Death Eater any more until now.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, her expression rather grim now. "Yes. Professor Snape turned to the Order of the Phoenix many years ago and became our spy. You-Know-Who believes that he is a loyal Death Eater who is lying to us and spying on the Order for him. We foster this belief by passing on information occasionally, to convince him that Professor Snape is loyal, while he collects information for our side about what the Death Eaters are up to."

Snape was some bizarre James Bond character? This was so insane that she couldn't think about it just yet. Shaking her head, Hermione looked rather aimlessly around the room. "...How do you know?" she asked finally in a rather small voice. Harry and Ron had been saying for years that Snape was a traitor, and she had always defended him, but she had to admit there had been times when she had wondered, a little.

The nurse gave her a stern look. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that, Miss Granger," she said quietly. "On this occasion I think it would be best if you accepted that you don't know the real story and that it has nothing to do with you."

Guiltily, she nodded, accepting the rebuke. "Sorry. I just... No. I'm sorry."

Holding the stern look for a moment longer, Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly and relaxed. "All right, then. I am perfectly aware of the image Professor Snape presents to people. So is he. A great many people doubt him, but I am not one of them."

The quiet certainty in her voice made her feel even more ashamed as she nodded again. "What does this have to do with me?"

"The life of a double agent is very dangerous," the nurse said flatly. "Professor Snape is frequently injured. Life amongst the Death Eaters is unpleasant and painful, the more so for a man who is never fully trusted and who occasionally has to disobey direct orders. This war has only just begun, but if it follows the same pattern as the previous war then he will be spending a great deal of time here in the hospital wing. The most important task of a Healer in the Order of the Phoenix is to keep our spy alive and functional; that is the main role I play in the Order. And frankly I could use some assistance every now and then; at the very least, someone else should see the truth of what we do."

She sighed. "I won't lie to you, Hermione. It is going to be extremely unpleasant. Not only will the work itself be extremely bloody and unpleasant, but Professor Snape... well, you know his general disposition," she said with careful diplomacy. "He is under a great deal of stress at the moment, understandably, and is frequently in some pain. To be blunt, Hermione, he will take it out on you."

"Because he knows that Poppy won't stand for him taking it out on her," Dilys interjected cheerfully from the nurse's bag.

"True," the mediwitch agreed with a slightly sad smile. "So, there you have it, Hermione. If you're determined to do this, you'll see the ugly truth of war. It's bloody and brutal and senseless and violent, and it will be very hard on you emotionally and mentally. You won't be able to discuss it with your friends. You'll see truly terrible things and you'll help me pick up the pieces, and you won't be thanked for it. Do you still want to help?"

This, at least, she didn't have to think about. Meeting the older witch's eyes squarely, Hermione nodded.

* * *

><p>In the midst of all the worries about Harry after his near-miss with the Dementors and the constant frustration when nobody in the Order would <em>tell <em>them anything, Hermione was caught off guard in early August when she saw the Potions master leaving yet another mysterious meeting, his thin black frame standing out in the midst of the crowd of witches and wizards crossing the hallway to the front door. Over Mrs Black's ravings, she stood up from her seat on the stairs where she had been reading and called before she could stop herself, "Professor Snape?"

As the others filed out, her teacher turned and glared at her as she approached him. Unlike the others, he was wearing his normal teaching clothes, black robe over black coat and trousers; irrelevantly Hermione wondered whether he ever overheated, wearing so many layers of black during the summer. "May I speak to you for a moment, sir?"

"Miss Granger," he said coldly, contriving to make his voice sound even less friendly than usual, "Until September the first, I am not obliged to listen to you or any other student. Go away."

Inwardly quailing at his expression, she swallowed and reminded herself sternly that she was a Gryffindor. She also tried to remind herself that Professor Snape was on her side; looking at the expression on his face, that seemed quite hard to believe, since the look in those black eyes said eloquently that he hated her and everything she represented. "I – I just wanted to thank you, sir. I know I wouldn't be able to train with Madam Pomfrey if you hadn't agreed."

She hesitated, wondering if she should say something about what he was doing for the Order, but he took the choice out of her hands by asking with a sneer, "Was that all?"

Deciding not to push her luck, she nodded meekly, and his lip curled before he turned away and stalked out.

_Well, that could have gone better, _she decided ruefully as her frantic heartbeat slowed down to something approaching normal.

* * *

><p>Severus wasn't quite sure whether to laugh or throw up. He watched somewhat incredulously from the fragile shelter of his usual corner of the staff room as Dumbledore proceeded to introduce Dolores Umbridge to the assembled teachers, who all wore similar expressions. The woman couldn't be real, he decided hopefully; surely the human race hadn't deteriorated quite this far. Even the Headmaster's cheerful expression looked rather strained as the impossible vision declared in a high-pitched breathy voice that it was absolutely <em>delightful <em>to meet them all at last and she was _sure _they were going to get along splendidly. _If she giggles I'm going to stab myself, _he decided, trying desperately not to catch Minerva's eye – had his colleague been in her other shape, her expression would have indicated a hairball would shortly be making an appearance.

When Umbridge approached him with her bright, shiny and absolutely fake smile, Severus was aware that everyone else was watching intently. Dumbledore's gaze warned him to behave himself; the others were all looking at him with barely-disguised anticipation. The cheerful smile on the toad-like face faltered as the newest teacher took in the view, and Severus allowed a very thin smile to touch his lips for a fraction of a second as he watched her; he was well aware of what he looked like, thank you, and he had been saving his best scowl for just this moment.

"And this is Severus Snape, our Potions master," Dumbledore said somewhat unnecessarily, trying to sound cheerful and pretending not to be mildly anxious about what was going to happen.

Her handshake was about as bad as he had expected; barely resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his robe as he drew it away from her, he suppressed his scowl long enough to give her a look of neutral, slightly unfriendly disinterest, watching the flickers in her eyes as she looked him up and down – with some difficulty; he was more than a head taller than she was. Disapproval, certainly, focusing briefly on his dirty hair and oversized nose, but – yes, there it was, the split-second glance at his left arm. Fudge had told her, then... And she was scared. _First point to me, I think. _Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, especially with the looks on the faces of some of his colleagues.

Dumbledore courteously escorted her out of the staff room, nodding and smiling and pretending to listen as she spoke about wanting to review the individual subjects. Once the door had closed, Minerva exhaled heavily through her nose and said to nobody in particular, "Has the entire country lost its mind?"

"You liked her, then?" Filius asked dryly, earning himself a snort and a glare.

"She seemed familiar," Severus said thoughtfully. "When I was young my mother briefly attempted to make me attend a local Muggle playgroup..."

"And how long did that last?" Rolanda Hooch asked.

"About a week and a half," he responded mildly, smirking a little at the memory. Even as a very small child he hadn't had any social skills and quite emphatically Did Not Play Well With Others. "Anyway, the woman in charge was very like her. Same hideously breathy voice, same unbelievably patronising way of speaking, same ghastly pink cardigan. She probably has tissues stuffed up both sleeves," he added with a faint shudder of distaste. "She _does _realise that we're not four and five years old, doesn't she?" _I can't wait to see how she deals with the students. The little bastards will eat her alive._

"You haven't heard the best of it yet," Minerva said darkly. "The Ministry have managed to gain all kinds of ridiculous concessions. The power they have given to that woman is disgusting, frankly..."

As she began to outline a fantastical nightmare of inspections and interviews and censorship, Severus felt a faint chill of foreboding ripple down his back as he understood the Headmaster's warning. The Ministry were doing their utmost to close Hogwarts down, or at least to remove most of the teachers. They could make things so much harder... He had a very bad feeling about this.

Once the meeting was over, he intended to slink off down to his nice quiet dungeons and try and relax and get a bit of peace, since peace was likely to be in very short supply soon, but he hadn't even made it to the door before Poppy cornered him and all but dragged him up to the hospital wing for a health check. Resigned to her bullying after this many years, he didn't bother wasting his breath arguing, and submitted surprisingly meekly; half an hour later he stood in the middle of her office in just his underwear, trying not to twitch as her wand poked him.

"I don't know why you're bothering," he told her, shivering slightly – August it might be, but it was still a stone castle in Scotland, and it wasn't warm enough to be standing around in his shorts. "I can tell you what you'll find." He assumed a bored expression and started ticking points off on his fingers. "I've lost weight, my nervous impulses are abnormal, my heartbeat is slightly arrhythmic, my metabolism and thyroid activity have both increased, there are signs of strain and inflammation in my joints, my digestive system isn't functioning the way it should..."

"But sadly your sarcasm reflexes are just fine," Poppy said irritably, jabbing her wand up under his ribs warningly. "We're going to do this every month. If you keep arguing with me, I'll make it every week. Hold still and don't blink." She shone the illuminated tip of her wand directly into his eyes, gripping his chin to hold his head in place, then examined his ears, his nose and his throat briskly. "All right, we're done for now. Get dressed and stop glaring at me."

Rolling his eyes, Severus did as he was told, watching her face as she sorted through the results while he did up his shirt and pulled his coat back on. "Well?"

"Yes, yes, you were right, as if that's anything to be proud of." She shook her head and gave him a despairing look. "This is a lot of damage for just a few months, Severus."

"It was always going to be bad over the summer," he pointed out, sitting to do his boots up. "Now that I'm at work again I won't be Summoned anywhere near as often."

"Even so, this is too much for such a short time." She sighed. "You've got to look after yourself better, Severus. You know as much if not more about the effects on your health as I do and you're not stupid." She clicked her tongue, looking down at her notes. "In particular, you've got to stop drinking. You've lost better than thirty five per cent liver function since last term. You must have spent most of the summer in an intoxicated coma to achieve that."

"That sounds about right," he agreed indifferently, shrugging into his robe. "Don't give me that look. I won't be drinking to excess while I'm working."

"You shouldn't be drinking at all. There are better ways of coping. I've told you all this before." Poppy shook her head. "I would like to make you promise that you'll cut back, but I know you won't. Just please be careful. And you need to watch your diet more carefully, too – you're right, you have lost weight, and you don't have much to lose."

He snorted. "I've been underweight all my life. That's not going to change. Nor is the fact that I always lose weight when I'm under stress. Besides, I haven't felt much like eating recently."

"You're not an idiot, so don't pretend to be one. You know you need to take better care of yourself, or you're not going to be able to do this."

"You're not an idiot either," he retorted, "and you know I'll keep myself functioning."

"Life is about more than just surviving, Severus," she told him sadly.

_Not for me. _He only shrugged in answer. "Anything else?"

Shaking her head a little sorrowfully, she looked back at her notes. "You were right about the joint inflammation and the nervous impulses. It's not as bad as I expected it to be, though; it seems your body still remembers how to cope. There have been many improvements in healing potions in the last decade or so; we should be able to treat it a little more effectively this time. _If _you make sure that you're strong enough."

"I got the message," he growled, exasperated.

"You and I both know that doesn't mean you'll actually listen, but I won't continue to belabour the point." She clicked her tongue again as she scanned the parchment. "I wasn't expecting it to be this bad so soon." Looking up, she met his eyes gravely. "Is this going to be better or worse than last time?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know, Poppy. It will be better in some ways, because I stand far higher now than I did then, but worse in others, because he is far less sane and seems more prone to venting emotions on us. I don't know which way the balance will shift. It's too early to tell."

"Hazard a guess."

Severus thought about it. "Better in the short term," he said finally. "But we have – at a conservative estimate – several years of war ahead of us. I think in the long run it will be worse... for all of us."

"That's not what I hoped to hear, but it's about what I expected. Very well, Severus, we're done for now. Please try to take a little more care of yourself. Hopefully I won't see you here before next month, but I suspect that's a vain hope."

* * *

><p>And here they were again. September the first. <em>The beginning of another year<em>. Severus stood motionless on the battlements, staring down through the gathering darkness of the autumn evening at the carriages unloading another load of students. The Thestrals stood impassively as the unknowing children crowded around and between them, chattering and laughing as they greeted their friends, pushing and shoving playfully at one another. Hidden from their view – had any of them bothered to look up – by the deepening shadows, his hands clenched into fists as he watched them.

His dark eyes were bleak as he observed the children teasing one another as they made their way into school to begin another year, listening to their laughter with no real expression on his face. They had no idea. Only a few short weeks before, these children had sat in the Great Hall and listened to the Headmaster telling them that their world had ended, that a wizard they had only ever known in stories – little more than a bogeyman – was back; yet clearly the news hadn't had much effect. One or two of them seemed quieter, more subdued – almost against his will, his eyes sought the thrice-cursed Golden Trio, Potter and his little sidekicks; none of them were smiling – and some, unfortunately mostly from his own House, were silent in the manner of those hiding secret knowledge; but by and large the children below him were completely unaffected.

Automatically he lifted a hand to his sleeve, rubbing restlessly at his left forearm, his long fingers tracing the brand hidden under the black cloth. _If they only knew_. Clenching his hand into a fist as he dragged it away from his arm, he turned away and began to make his way down to the Great Hall, to take his place at the staff table and watch the Sorting before returning to the silence of the dungeons, to sit and stare into the fire and wait in dread for the increasingly familiar burn that would call him once more into hell. It had been a very long summer, and it had only just begun.

As he left the battlements, he heard again the bright, cheerful laughter of the youngsters arriving. They were so innocent, so blissfully ignorant of their world crumbling all around them.

In that moment, he hated them.

* * *

><p><em>Here we go again...<em>

_**Note:** The issue I spoke of here earlier has been resolved. I sincerely hope nothing like it occurs again, and I want to thank all of you for your support.  
><em>

_I hope you enjoy my new fic._

**Loten.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Without further ado, let's have some angst and a bit of plot thickening._**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>"See the man with the lonely eyes<br>Take his hand, you'll be surprised."**  
>– Supertramp, 'Give A Little Bit'.<p>

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><p>Severus wasn't expecting anything unusual from the start-of-term feast, but the Sorting Hat showed an unusual flair for the dramatic as it launched into its yearly song; it certainly caught people's attention. He regarded the hat somewhat sourly as it babbled about the problems with encouraging division between the Houses and the need for unity in these troubled times, and tried not to feel bitter; <em>it's only a few dozen years too late for that. <em>As with most social problems, they should have started trying to find a solution long before now; they couldn't possibly affect enough changes to do any good now. Scowling, he glanced along the High Table and found Dumbledore giving him a slightly sad look; responding with a glare, he turned his attention to the Sorting.

Dolores Umbridge continued establishing her appalling lack of subtlety and diplomatic skills by standing up and making a speech. Severus listened with half an ear, more interested in the reactions of everyone else; his fellow staff members were all trying to look politely interested, with varying degrees of success – Minerva in particular had gone rather tight-lipped and her nostrils were flaring slightly, a well-known danger sign. Somewhat amused, he turned his gaze on the students.

As he had expected, most of them were too busy ridiculing the newest staff member to pay any attention to what she was saying, sniggering to one another and whispering. He'd been right, he reflected; they were going to eat her alive.

About half the Ravenclaw table, mostly the older students, appeared to be listening; there was a smattering of furrowed brows and narrowed eyes as they appeared to grasp what was actually being said.

One or two Hufflepuffs seemed to be listening, but most of them weren't paying any attention at all; he noted distantly that they had left a space about half way down the table. He couldn't remember, but he was reasonably sure that was where Diggory had used to sit.

To his displeasure, Slytherin didn't seem to be listening either; he knew he was going to have a lot of problems with them this year. Not even Draco was paying attention. He ran his eyes along the table; too many sons and daughters of Death Eaters. A full quarter of his House at the moment had a father who wore the Dark Mark, and most of the rest were closely related to followers of the Dark Lord. He hoped that they would be more inclined to listen to their Head of House in these uncertain times, but somehow he doubted it.

That just left the Gryffindors. He wasn't remotely surprised to see that none of them seemed to be listening either, except for one. Miss Granger had her chin propped on her hand and was staring at Umbridge through narrowed eyes with a rather grim expression that indicated that, once again, she was apparently the only student in the whole damned school capable of actually using what lay between her ears. He grimaced faintly, reminded again that she would shortly be plaguing him out of hours as well. At least if she knew what was going on she might be able to keep her thick-skulled friends under control, but he wasn't very hopeful. She had never seemed to be able to manage it before.

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><p>The term didn't get off to a very good start as far as Hermione was concerned. Her new prefect's duties took up far more time than she had realised, and she was worrying about what Professor Umbridge was up to, and Harry's temper was getting ridiculous now, and she and Ron were already starting to fight – which usually didn't happen until slightly later in the year.<p>

The school at war didn't seem much different from the school in peacetime, as far as she could tell. A couple of teachers perhaps looked a little more tired or stressed, but only if you were really looking. By and large the students seemed unchanged, which she supposed made sense since most of them didn't really believe what had happened. And she noticed that Snape too was the same as ever, which disappointed her a little; she'd been hoping for some sort of sign of what he was doing, but if anything he was even more spiteful than usual and had failed Harry in their very first Potions lesson for no reason at all. That didn't bode well for her Healing work when it began; she added it to her list of things to worry about.

Their first Defence lesson was a complete fiasco. She'd realised the Ministry's plan as soon as she'd seen the course aims written out; that would have been bad enough, but the woman seemed to insist on treating them like toddlers at the same time as ruining their education. Hermione was seething within twenty minutes, and it usually took a great deal to turn her against a teacher without giving them a fair chance – it had taken months before she'd started to suspect Snape the way her friends did, after all, and she hadn't even really hated him until last year – so it wasn't surprising that Harry lost his temper completely. Unsurprising, but worrying. It was obvious that Umbridge had been sent to discredit him, and he was making it remarkably easy for her so far.

As ever, word travelled fast, and the whole school was buzzing with what he'd said inside about an hour. At dinner, Hermione looked around, trying to gauge the general reactions; most of the students didn't believe him, but she was sure that was mostly because they didn't want to. More than a few people were too loud in their denials, too quick, and their eyes were tight and scared under the bravado. After all, people had tried to discredit Harry before, and he was usually proved right in the end. She ignored her suspicions for the moment, finding it easier to tell the boys that everyone believed the _Daily Prophet_'s summer slander campaign – she was frightened enough without discussing it, frankly.

Her eyes went briefly to the staff table; Umbridge was sitting between McGonagall and Snape, both of whom were ignoring her. The toad looked smug and pleased with herself in a very irritating self-righteous fashion; McGonagall was talking to Dumbledore in a low voice, her lips pinched tightly together. Snape was ignoring everyone by the look of things, staring at his food as though it had personally offended him, and he'd moved his chair over away from Umbridge as much as possible. Obviously she was no more popular with the staff than she was with the students.

Hermione stared briefly at the Headmaster, shaking her head. How could he let this happen? He was supposed to be so powerful, and yet the Ministry had managed to get the drop on him and force him into this stupidity. It was so important for them to be taught how to defend themselves now, and instead they had a total farce. Angry, she abandoned her food and stormed out of the hall with her friends.

* * *

><p>A house elf hauled Hermione out of bed at half past one in the morning only a few days later with a summons to the hospital wing. Yawning, bleary-eyed and extremely nervous, she made her way through the deserted castle as quickly as possible, and had only gone a little way before Dilys' portrait appeared, keeping pace with her through the frames.<p>

"It begins," the portrait told her quietly. "I need to warn you, Hermione, this is going to be bad."

She swallowed. "How bad?"

"Well, there's no blood this time," Dilys said in a detached tone, "so it could be worse. You're about to see the Cruciatus curse first-hand, however. Severus was cursed at some length tonight; we don't know why, so don't ask. Never ask; it's not our place. He makes his reports to others; our purpose is to repair the damage afterwards, nothing more. You should be aware that he can't speak at the moment. He may or may not know you're there; Poppy and I have both known him since he was eleven years old but we still don't quite know what he is capable of or what his limits are."

She swallowed again and increased her pace. "What do I need to do?"

"On this occasion, nothing. You're here to observe; someday if Poppy isn't available you may need to do this yourself. There is a charm that helps to stabilise the nerves and reduce the overstimulation caused by the curse, and another for the pain, and he is likely to be sweating a lot so gentle cooling and cleansing charms can help. Beyond that, there is little that anyone can do until it eases. Just watch, and take in as much as you can; tomorrow Poppy and I will discuss it with you and teach you the charms."

"All right."

"Incidentally, you might want to look into getting a portrait frame from somewhere – Minerva can probably tell you where the spare ones are kept – and put it over your bed or something. That way I can call you directly when you're needed, rather than using the house elves."

Hermione nodded absently, more preoccupied with wondering nervously what she was likely to see. When she got to the hospital wing, her wide eyes took in the scene; Snape was lying on one of the beds, minus his robes, his boots and his coat and with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were closed, but he was conscious; even as she watched his back arched for a moment and he made a low sound in the back of his throat, shuddering as his expression twisted briefly. Madam Pomfrey was beside him, moving her wand back and forth in a series of brisk motions; she glanced up just long enough to nod briefly and indicate a spot out of the way before turning back to what she was doing.

"Did you ask him what number?" Dilys asked clinically.

Madam Pomfrey nodded distractedly. "He claims seven. I would guess seven and a half, perhaps eight."

Baffled by this, Hermione watched silently as the nurse bustled efficiently around the figure writhing silently on the bed; Madam Pomfrey had the air of having done this many times before. It was weirdly reminiscent of a scene from _Casualty_, but something was off – well, beyond the obvious lack of electricity and the use of magic, anyway.

Eventually she worked out what it was, when she chided herself for trying to ignore the patient only to realise that the older woman was also more or less ignoring him. She was moving around him, casting charms and trying to stabilise his nervous system, but never spoke to him or touched him. Not that she could blame her for that – this _was _Snape, after all – but in a Healer it seemed odd.

She asked Dilys' portrait; the former Headmistress and Healer gave her a surprised look that faded into something more thoughtful and somehow assessing. "He doesn't need it. Professor Snape has been doing this since before you were born, and he is almost insanely independent."

"But it would help, wouldn't it? Psychology is important in medicine..." As with everything else she had ever done, she had been devouring every book on Healing and on Muggle medicine she could lay her hands on as soon as the idea had occurred to her, long before Madam Pomfrey had agreed.

The earned her another thoughtful, assessing look. "Yes, it would help," Dilys said finally, "_if _you can get him to accept it. The man could teach stubbornness to rocks."

Hermione swallowed and moved closer to the bed, staring down at the semi-conscious figure of the Potions master. His sallow skin was paler than ever and slick with sweat, his oily hair clinging to his thin face; his jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle twitched in his cheek and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His whole body was shaking with the pain as his over stimulated nerves twitched and fired, racking him with muscle spasms as he clawed at the sheets on either side of him.

_I don't care,_ she told herself defiantly. She had never particularly liked Snape, never trusted him on a personal level, and never respected him as much as her other teachers, but she had never really hated him either, not the way Harry and Ron did – until last year. The cruel way he had humiliated her in front of everyone after Malfoy had hexed her had really hurt her. She had always been sensitive about her oversized teeth; the comment alone would have been bad enough, but the casual, unfeeling malice and amusement in her teacher's face had only made it worse. And really, it wasn't as if he was in a position to laugh at anyone else's teeth, she told herself nastily, not for the first time and probably not for the last.

She hated him, as much as she hated anyone. But staring down at him now, she knew she couldn't just leave him like this either, alone and writhing in silent agony and occasionally hissing through his horrible teeth as he fought to keep quiet – anyone else would have been screaming, she was certain. Very gingerly, certain this was a mistake and certain that he didn't deserve her help, she reached out and took hold of his left hand.

She hadn't expected his reaction. His whole body tensed, and she had a moment to try and decide whether he would attack her or simply yank away and yell at her; he did neither. Instead, his hand tightened on hers in a crushing grip that was almost painful, and then he turned his head slowly and opened his eyes to look at her.

When Hermione was seven or eight years old, she had been out walking with her parents when they had come across a fox that had just been hit by a car. Its injuries had been horrific; there had been blood everywhere, one hind leg had been almost torn off and its lower jaw had been smashed, but despite that it hadn't been quite dead, and the mute suffering in its eyes in the endless seconds before it had died had given her nightmares for months.

Once the faint surprise on seeing just who was touching him had faded, the look in Professor Snape's black eyes was the same as that of the dying fox.

She had thought that he was keeping silent out of sheer obstinacy and a reluctance to show any form of weakness; but looking at him now, she realised that he was simply in too much pain to even scream – that he had in some way gone beyond that.

Then his eyes squeezed shut again, and his grip on her hand tightened to the point of pain as his shaking grew worse. She could feel the tremors racking him now and reflexively squeezed his hand, trying to distract him and offer comfort as well as to stop him crushing her fingers. Even as she did so, she faltered; this was Snape, and she hated him, and he was still a Death Eater, no matter whose side he claimed to be on.

Caught in this strange dilemma, she watched his face uncertainly, seeing him as though for the first time. He had a small scar through his left eyebrow, and a very faint, almost invisible white line of another scar across his cheek. Deep lines were etched between his mouth and his hooked nose, and at the corners of his eyes, which had dark rings beneath them, and his jaw was dark with a day of stubble. She had never seen him like this before, or at least never paid attention. When the spasms eased a little, he breathed out shakily and opened his eyes, giving her a look of desperate and almost pathetic gratitude, and Hermione realised somewhat dismally that she couldn't hate him any more – he'd even taken that away from her. Whatever else he might be, he was a human being and he was in a lot of pain. She looked away from him, unwilling to see what else might be in his eyes.

Thoughts of the Death Eaters drew her eyes, inevitably, to his arm, while his grip tightened painfully and he started to crush her hand again as the shaking grew worse once more. The Dark Mark stood out clear and black against his pale skin, the first time she had seen it etched into someone's flesh; the grinning skull and the serpent made her shiver in fascinated revulsion as she wondered – not for the first time – why he had chosen to become what he was. What had led him to kneel to Voldemort?

Tearing her eyes away from Voldemort's brand, she looked at the rest of his arm, still determined to avoid meeting his eyes again. She was surprised at how thin he was; she could almost have joined her finger and thumb in a circle around his bony wrist, yet the fierce and painful hold he had on her hand proved that he was physically stronger than he looked. His grip was really starting to hurt now.

He had a lot of scars, she noted. Small nicks and calluses on his hands, from potions – those, she expected to see. It even made sense that he would have other scars, given that he was, after all, a Death Eater – but the small marks at the bend of his elbow below his rolled-up sleeves and the faded ones on his wrist were decidedly _un_expected.

She was distracted from her thoughts when he said something indistinctly under his breath, the first time he'd spoken since answering Madam Pomfrey's question about numbers, whatever that had meant. Raising his voice, he rasped, "Poppy..."

The mediwitch looked up, stopping what she was doing, and hurried to his side. The two of them exchanged a glance laden with meaning, before she nodded. "All right. Let go, Severus. I'm ready."

Hermione watched blankly as Snape nodded shakily and closed his eyes, shivering uncontrollably now – she could hear his teeth chattering. After a moment he groaned in agony and his back arched, before a convulsion racked his body, and she realised he was having some sort of seizure. Madam Pomfrey bent over him, and she scooted back a little to try and keep out of the way, hampered by the fact that he refused to slacken his desperate grip on her hand even as he went into full convulsions.

On the television, seizures never looked so bad. There was a lot of flailing, and lots of running around making sure the patient didn't bite his tongue in half or something, but then it seemed to ease off. Over the next few minutes, Hermione learned that in reality, seizures were nothing so benign or dignified. He was convulsing wildly, his limbs jerking spasmodically and his body contorting so much he looked at risk of breaking bones; he was soaked in sweat and making incoherent sounds of pain. Then, worse, he started to lose control of his sphincters, coughing and choking on his own vomit before his bladder gave out as saliva flecked his lips and tears ran down his face, mingling with blood and mucus as his nose started bleeding.

It was horrible to watch, simply because of the sheer degradation. Self control couldn't save him from this, and nor could stubbornness. The smell of vomit, blood and urine faded as Madam Pomfrey cast cleansing charms, but whatever she had been doing to calm his nervous system had stopped. "Isn't there anything else you can do?" Hermione asked shakily, and the nurse shook her head sadly.

"Not until he stops seizing. He needs to ride this out. You can leave if you wish, Miss Granger – you haven't been apprenticing long enough to do this yet."

Hermione shook her head; if he had to go through it, the least she could do was be brave enough to watch. Besides, she wasn't sure she could leave – most of his body was clearly not under Snape's control, but he still had a crushing death grip on her hand, now unpleasantly slick with sweat. "Does this happen every time?" she asked, mostly for something to occupy her mind apart from staring in sickened fascination.

"No. Normally it's just what you have already seen. It is very rare for it to be severe enough to trigger a seizure." Madam Pomfrey hesitated. "At the same time, there are often other injuries. What you are seeing now is purely the aftermath of the Cruciatus curse."

"What was all that with the numbers, earlier?"

"Ah." The nurse almost smiled. "That is Professor Snape's private pain scale; his assessment of how much pain he is in, on a scale from one to ten." The near-smile faded. "Generally, he comes to the Infirmary for anything over six. Between seven and eight is the average, very rarely higher than that. Once the pain drops to four or less, he can function enough to teach – or so he claims," she added, giving the convulsing figure a disapproving glance that he was clearly in no condition to appreciate. "It's better if we can get it down to at least two."

"Not stop it entirely?"

She snorted tiredly. "We don't have that sort of time, Miss Granger," she said bluntly. "What you saw before the seizure started will continue for a very long time yet. It will be more than a day before the nervous impulses stop and let him start to recover; it will be Monday at least before he is pain free. If he isn't Summoned again before then."

Hermione thought about this, unhappily. "How often does this happen?" she asked.

"It's only been a couple of months," the nurse pointed out gently. "He isn't Summoned as often during term time – You-Know-Who knows that it isn't always easy for him to get away. Over the summer he was called every two or three days. If this follows the same pattern as the first war, it will be about once a week on average."

"And he goes through this every time?"

"No. Even Professor Snape couldn't survive that. He isn't punished every time – he is punished less frequently this time than he was at the height of the previous war, at least so far – and when he is, it is often mild enough for him to treat it himself. Serious punishments such as tonight will probably happen once in every four or five Summons, and as I said, they aren't often as severe as this. You've been thrown in at the deep end, Miss Granger – it very seldom gets worse than tonight."

"Harry's been cursed before... he never mentioned anything like this."

Dilys laughed shortly. "He's never been cursed like this, or he would probably be dead. This isn't a single curse, or even a few bouts; this is the aftermath of prolonged, focused, deliberate torture. By the severity of his reaction tonight and the fact that it led to a seizure, he has probably been cursed for at least half an hour, more or less continuously."

"Why?" she asked, horrified.

"Who knows," the portrait replied quietly. "He may have had to disobey You-Know-Who in favour of Dumbledore, he may have failed to do something You-Know-Who asked of him, he may not have known the answer to a question or You-Know-Who may simply have been in a vindictive mood. From what little Severus has said, You-Know-Who is different now to the way he was in the previous war, more aggressive and unreasonable."

After what seemed like hours, Snape finally and somewhat suddenly passed out, which evidently marked the end of the crisis, and his grip slackened at last. Hermione slowly let go of him and thoroughly wiped her hand on her robes, flexing her fingers and wincing. Backing away from the bed, she watched the woman tidying up.

"Well," the nurse said quietly after a few minutes, "this is the reality of the war, Miss Granger, and this is what a Healer in the Order has to do. What did you think of your baptism of fire?"

"It's barbaric," she replied flatly. Snape had been reduced to something less than human. Nobody deserved that kind of treatment, and she couldn't understand the kind of mind that could inflict such suffering on another. Rubbing her hand, she hesitated, before looking up at the mediwitch. "When did Professor Snape try to kill himself?" she asked quietly.

Madam Pomfrey froze. "I don't know what you mean, Miss Granger," she said finally after far too long a pause, and Hermione smiled unhappily and shook her head.

"I did say I watched a lot of medical-based television shows at home. I recognised the scar patterns on his wrist. They're too deep to be self harm, and too precise to be an accident. It was a suicide attempt, wasn't it?" Realising what she was saying, she swallowed. "I'm sorry. It – it's none of my business." She was just glad Snape was unconscious. At least, she sincerely hoped he was – if he was faking, she was in deep trouble.

After a thoughtful pause, the older woman nodded slowly. "It was a very long time ago, when he was young." There was another pause, and Hermione found herself yet again on the receiving end of a measuring stare; the nurse seemed to be thinking very hard about something. "What else can you tell me about his scars?"

"Well... the marks on his elbow," she began uneasily.

Madam Pomfrey's gaze sharpened in sudden interest. "Yes?"

"They're – what Muggles call track marks. They're made by needles, from regular injections of drugs through a syringe. Is Professor Snape diabetic, or something like that?"

"No. He's not on any medication of that sort."

"Then..." She hesitated.

"Go on."

"Well, track marks are often a sign of drug addiction," she said uncertainly. "Usually heroin."

Unexpectedly, the nurse sighed and looked suddenly tired. "Oh, Severus," she murmured sadly, looking down at the unconscious man. "Yes. He used to use heroin and other drugs, sometimes. I believe he has been clean for a number of years now, though the scars remain; if he has started using again, it can only be within the past couple of weeks, since his last health check with me. I'll have to ask him later." Hermione stared at her incredulously. _Snape was a heroin addict? _She continued, "Don't look at me like that. He knows what he's doing, more or less."

After a moment the mediwitch gave her a penetrating look. "Why do you care, Miss Granger?" she asked softly – not aggressively, not as an accusation, but rather with an air that suggested that the question was a lot more important than it seemed. "Don't you hate Professor Snape, as so many of the students do?"

"Sort of, yes," she admitted reluctantly, shifting uneasily. "But... well... nobody should have to go through – this." She gestured helplessly towards the bed, remembering the animal pain in his eyes and that desperate look of gratitude. "I don't think I can hate him any more. Not now."

"I told you," Dilys murmured from her frame, and nurse and portrait exchanged a long and troubled look as Hermione watched them both blankly. _Told her what? That I'm not enough of a bitch to keep hating someone in that much pain? _she wondered. Finally Madam Pomfrey sighed, looking almost resigned, and nodded before turning back to her.

"I have an assignment for you, Hermione," she said quietly, dropping any pretence of formality. "In fact, I have several instructions. The first is that you do not allow anyone to find out what I am asking of you – and I mean _nobody. _Not your parents, not your friends, not the other staff members. Don't even tell Professor McGonagall that there is anything to this beyond your studying Healing. Not the Headmaster, not Harry or Ron. Do I make myself clear?"

The insistence in her voice was unmistakeable; whatever was going on, it was obviously important. Mystified, Hermione nodded slowly. "I promise."

The mediwitch held her gaze for a moment, then nodded and continued in a different tone. "On a similar note, don't mention tonight or any other of these nights to Professor Snape. Here, he was hurt and he needed help. Outside this room, he is not a patient, but your teacher. Do you understand?"

She nodded again. "Yes." That particular warning hadn't been needed, she reflected; she had no intention of trying to discuss what she had seen. He might have needed help tonight, but by morning he would bitterly resent that fact, and by extension resent her; she had already planned to keep very quiet in her next Potions lesson and try not to attract attention.

"Speaking of Professor Snape," the nurse went on, "I would appreciate it if you could tell me should you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary – additional strange scars, for example, or other injuries."

"You want me to spy on him?" Hermione asked incredulously, and it was Dilys who laughed.

"Merlin, no, girl," the portrait told her, smiling a little. "He'd catch you and kill you. No, just if you happen to notice anything in your lessons, that's all. I can pass word to Poppy if you can't get to the Infirmary; any of the portraits can fetch me to their frames."

"Okay."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, casting another quick glance at the unconscious figure on the bed. "Very well. Now, for your assignment... This way." She led Hermione into her office and went to one of the rows of filing cabinets along the back wall that held all the medical records for all of Hogwarts' students past and present who were still alive. Extracting what was either a very thick folder or a substantial book, she looked down at it and sighed before turning back to Hermione.

"By rights, I shouldn't be doing this, but I tend to trust my instincts," she said somewhat cryptically, before holding the book out. "Take this with you, and keep it with you at all times; for Merlin's sake, don't lose it. Don't let anyone else know you have it; don't let anyone touch it, or even see it. Do whatever you have to do to keep it secret, and only look at it when you're alone. Read it, all of it, then bring it back to me." She hesitated. "It will not be pleasant reading," she added softly.

Thoroughly mystified now and baffled by all the secrecy, Hermione nodded slowly and took the folder, glancing at it curiously; the cover was blank. It would have to wait, curious though she was; she needed to get some sleep, and she had classes tomorrow. It appeared that a weekend's reading was in order. Shrinking the folder with her wand, she tucked it carefully into an inside pocket and looked back at the nurse, who smiled at her.

"You'll understand soon, my dear. For now, don't worry about it. Go and get some sleep; you did a good thing tonight."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Madam Pomfrey replied with a slightly sad smile and a glance at Dilys' portrait. "Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

><p>By morning, Hermione's hand was swollen and mottled with bruising, striped with the clear imprint of fingers. Luckily it was her left hand, allowing her to keep it hidden most of the time, and nobody noticed; she didn't need to use the hand until the afternoon's Potions lesson, by which time she was feeling very tired indeed. She hadn't found it easy to sleep after what she had seen.<p>

Snape didn't look like he had spent half the night in excruciating agony. Nor did he look like a heroin addict, Hermione reflected as she watched him covertly – whatever that looked like, anyway. He looked exactly the same as he always did, and he was his usual unpleasant self as he paced around the classroom and criticised their efforts. He stood behind Hermione for some time – she suspected he was waiting for her to look at him or to make some sort of reference, silently or verbally, to the night before, and kept her head down as she cut up her ingredients – before he almost absently docked five points from Ron and Harry for no real reason and swept off into the store room, leaving the three of them exchanging puzzled and irritated glances.

"He never changes," Harry said sourly, returning his attention to the dried henbane leaves he was crushing.

"Nope," Ron agreed philosophically, stirring his potion. "One of the constants of the universe – water's wet, fire's hot, and Snape's a git." Hermione bit her lip and kept silent, although privately she agreed; it was hard to be angry when she remembered the harsh sound of his breathing as he fought not to scream.

Towards the end of the lesson she found Snape standing behind her once more, using the spot as a surveillance point as he studied Neville's work. He was evidently waiting with barely-concealed anticipation for the nervous Gryffindor to make his inevitable mistake, which happened with depressing regularity almost every lesson. It didn't take long; Neville always grew much more nervous when Snape was watching him, which was certainly why the Potions master did it. As the smoke rose, Snape pounced, with an expression of almost unholy malicious glee.

As he left her bench and approached his prey, Hermione saw him take his hand out of the pocket of his robe and heard something drop into her bag; while everyone else watched Neville being verbally eviscerated – with sympathy, laughter, or relief that it wasn't them, depending on their House – she leaned down and fished amongst her textbooks. Her hand closed on a small clay jar, and she examined it curiously. The label was written in a familiar spiky hand, one she usually saw at the bottom of essays telling her to stop showing off and simply answer the question that had been asked; this time it merely said, '_For bruises.'_

Staring at Snape's back as he proceeded to acidly reduce Neville to a quivering wreck, she shook her head slowly and tucked the little pot into the same pocket as the shrunken folder that she hadn't had time to look at, musing that life had suddenly become very surreal.

* * *

><p>That evening she said something vague about homework and left Harry and Ron playing chess in the common room, escaping to the dormitory which was empty this early in the evening. Drawing the curtains around her bed, she carefully applied as many privacy spells as she could think of and settled cross-legged with the mysterious folder, smiling as Crookshanks sat next to her. Reaching to stroke him, she winced at the stiffness in her hand and remembered the small jar; Summoning it, she opened the lid and sniffed at the waxy ointment curiously.<p>

"What do you think, Crooks?" she asked her familiar idly. "Is he trying to poison me?" Frankly she thought it was surprising that he'd noticed her hand was injured, let alone provided help. _I expect my preserved Sourleaf pods weren't shaved precisely enough, _she decided ruefully; no doubt he'd mark her down for the potion, regardless of the injury, and never mind that it had been his fault. Shrugging, she scooped some of the paste out of the jar and began carefully dabbing it onto the worst of the bruising, gently working it into the skin.

It felt pleasantly cool, at first, and eased the persistent throbbing ache that had been plaguing her all day. Reassured, she began to relax, before the ointment cooled further and began to feel cold. Flexing her fingers, she drew in a sharp breath as it turned icy, the cold sinking deep into her hand; her cat sniffed at the jar and meowed softly, looking as sympathetic as his squashed face could manage, but didn't show any signs of alarm. Since the end of her third year she had put a lot more trust in Crookshanks' judgement, and resisted the urge to rub the ointment off, instead letting it soak in.

After a few minutes the cold had completely numbed her hand, and it actually felt quite nice. Letting it do its work, she turned her attention to the mysterious book that Madam Pomfrey had given her, settling more comfortably against the pillows and opening it to the title page. She was a little disappointed to see that it was just a student's record sheet, no different from the ones she had already seen; this was someone's medical record. The explanation occurred to her even as she read the first line of text.

_Name of Student: Severus Tobias Snape_

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, realising what she held. "Well, this explains why I'm not supposed to tell anyone," she told Crookshanks quietly. Snape's medical history as a student... God, what on earth was written in here? For a start, it was much thicker than the student records she had seen. And she really shouldn't be reading it... if Snape found out, he really would murder her, and these records were supposed to be confidential. But Madam Pomfrey had surely given this to her for a reason, and she had to admit that part of her was desperately curious. Of all her teachers, Snape was by far the most mysterious; he might well be in the Order, but she still knew nothing about him, not really – except that, as Ron had said, he was a constant git. She looked back at the page.

_Gender: Male_

_Date of Birth: January 9th 1960_

That was a surprise, too; intellectually she knew he had been at school with Sirius and Lupin and was therefore only in his mid-thirties, but... he looked a lot older than that, now. Thinking briefly back to her first year, she had to concede that he had aged rapidly in the past few years, which she supposed wasn't really all that surprising. He was under quite a bit of stress, after all.

_House: Slytherin_

_Dates of Attendance: September 1971 – June 1978_

_Next of Kin: Tobias Snape, Muggle; Eileen Prince Snape, pureblood._

She nearly dropped the book. "Snape's a half-blood?" she asked nobody in particular, before realising she had spoken aloud and giving her wand a grateful look; thank God for Silencing spells. She had always assumed that he was a pureblood – although now that she thought about it, nobody had ever said so. She hadn't thought they let half-bloods into Slytherin. _How bizarre... I wonder who else knows? _The teachers would, obviously – but did the Slytherins know that their Head of House wasn't a pureblood?

Taking a moment to check her spells and make absolutely sure that nobody could see or hear her, she turned back to the book and turned the page. The first entry was dated early September 1971, the first health check – students underwent a brief health check at the start of every term, recording their height and weight and casting a basic diagnostic to see if there was anything wrong; she had seen her own record of those checks already. Madam Pomfrey also included a few notes on each student, and this first check recorded the nurse's first impression of the new pupils, and it was to this section that Hermione's eyes turned now.

_Notes: Height in lower quartile of average range, no concern. Weight significantly below normal and overall hygiene seems poor. Evidence of old injuries, mainly bruising to arms, back and ribs; not serious but with other observations may mean possible neglect/abuse. No history of disease. He seems a quiet, solemn boy, polite and well spoken but a little withdrawn. One to watch._

Hermione sighed. "Well, Crooks, so far I've learned that Snape's a half-blood, that he was short, and that he's always been skinny and greasy and antisocial. This is going to be fun." Exhaling, she turned the page again.

The first documented Infirmary visit was dated less than a week later, a broken arm. Madam Pomfrey's record followed the standard format, careful notes of the injury and its treatment and then additional notes about the cause and any other observations. _Explanation given as a fall. No sign of untruth but seems unlikely. Accompanied by a friend, Miss Evans of Gryffindor, who looked uncomfortable when he said he fell. Suspect hazing gone wrong – always a problem with Slytherin half-bloods. First of many visits, I believe._

She stared at the brief notes. "Snape was friends with a Gryffindor girl? That's just weird," she muttered, shaking her head. "Ah well, on we go."

Further incidents followed, all fairly minor; Madam Pomfrey judged most of them probably the results of fighting or bullying, but there was no proof of it and Snape had evidently been an accomplished liar even aged eleven. His friend Evans appeared several times, usually in the context of uncomfortably confirming the story of a fall or an accident and once or twice defending Snape when it was noted that other students had visited the Infirmary with injuries apparently caused by the young Slytherin.

By the end of his first year Snape's general health had improved a little; he was still underweight but within the acceptable range, and he had grown a little. His demeanour seemed much the same, quiet, polite and withdrawn. She read the notes for the first health check of his second year. _Weight has gone down significantly, more bruising, decline in hygiene. Neglect/abuse now seems likely, have requested the Headmaster check his background._

"Madam Pomfrey did warn me it wasn't cheerful reading," Hermione muttered, turning the page.

There were more cross-student incidents this year – incidents involving other students. She wasn't remotely surprised to see the Marauders' names cropping up frequently as either Snape's victims or his assailants; regardless of the injuries on each side, these interactions usually seemed to end badly for Snape. Madam Pomfrey was chiefly concerned with recording injuries only, but she did note the rising frequency of punishments in Snape's file. Most of the recorded events seemed somewhat petty and trivial – bumps and bruises, occasionally mild hexes, but there was one that stood out.

Snape had been brought in unconscious, with an impressive tally of injuries – a broken leg, a cracked skull and several points of internal bleeding. _Notes: Accident during Quidditch tryouts. Fall from broomstick, estimated twenty feet – supervisor occupied elsewhere, fall was not slowed. He refuses to say what happened – embarrassed? Angry? Not sure – very hard to read. _Under that was another note, apparently added later on. _Visit from Miss Evans – as she left, she said to me, 'It wasn't an accident. Sev's a good flier.' Tryouts always crowded but no witnesses have come forward. Miss Evans is probably right but there is no proof that it was anything other than an accident._

Hermione read on. The rest of the year was the same, and at the beginning of his third year Snape had once again lost weight and gained injuries – there was no reference to whether the Headmaster had investigated or not. In the brief notes Madam Pomfrey had observed, _Hormone levels changing and voice shows signs of breaking. _She wasn't really sure she wanted to read about her teacher entering puberty, but she kept reading anyway. The third year seemed to progress much as the second year had, save that the spells – both those used on Snape and those he used against others, chiefly James and Sirius – were growing more powerful and the encounters more aggressive. About the only deviation from the pattern was that his voice broke properly before Easter and he started to grow a little faster.

When she had finished the fourth year, which was again simply a more aggressive version of what she had already seen, Hermione realised that it was well after midnight and she had been studying the record for hours. Closing the book, she put it under her pillow to make sure nothing happened to it, and examined her hand; the coldness had worn off, but the bruising seemed slightly better. Lifting the spells on her bed curtains, she slid out of bed and went to clean her teeth and get changed before curling up with Crookshanks, thinking.

It seemed that Snape hadn't had an easy time of things. Madam Pomfrey had strongly suspected that he came from an abusive background and that he was being bullied, and he had run into the Marauders fairly frequently, usually coming off worst. The book dealt chiefly with the medical side of things, though, which made it hard to judge what had actually happened; she'd have to talk to the nurse about what she had read, once she had finished it. Deciding that tomorrow she'd get all her homework done and out of the way, so that she had the rest of the weekend to read and decide what to ask the mediwitch, Hermione closed her eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep, wondering idly who this girl Evans had been; annoyingly, the name sounded vaguely familiar.

* * *

><p><em>Ooh look. Drama. And foreshadowing.<em>_ Also, the incident I mentioned last chapter has now been resolved. Thanks, everyone._**  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

_Two chapters in and I've made someone cry, received a declaration of love, had my first piece of fan art and racked up over 100 reviews. You guys are awesome; keep it up._**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>"See my solitude<br>Where once was truth now only doubt  
>Touch my tortured skin<br>Torn from within and from without..."**  
>– Divine Comedy, 'Death of a Supernaturalist'.<p>

* * *

><p>She couldn't return to her reading until Saturday night, only managing to shake the boys off by telling them it was that time of the month and she wanted to go to bed early. As expected, they hadn't asked for more details; she'd been using it as a method of getting some peace and quiet for years, and they hadn't even noticed that she used the excuse around every ten days on average, which if true would have indicated a serious health problem. Curling up comfortably behind her warded curtains once more, she withdrew the folder from her pocket and restored it to its proper size, leafing through it to find September 1975.<p>

Snape's fifth year seemed exactly the same as the previous years; underweight and injured at the start of term, he proceeded to get into trouble at least once every few weeks, and frequently on those occasions Madam Pomfrey noted older injuries that he had evidently treated himself. Exam stress had started to affect him during the summer term; the number of incidents was reduced but their severity increased. Hermione turned the page, expecting to see the beginning of the sixth year, and found one final incident report for the summer term.

_Notes: Not sure what happened. Diagnostic has found that he was apparently forced to ingest soap, and there seems to be considerable and extensive bruising (most notably in a ring around one ankle; restraints?) and other minor hurts that he has healed himself. Evidence suggests that a lot of students were involved somehow – many students trying to avoid being noticed by staff, always sign of trouble. Severus himself refused to comment but he seems very upset, rather than angry, which is unusual. I attempted to speak to Miss Evans; she avoided my eyes and said she didn't know anything. I suspect they had some sort of fight. Hopefully it will resolve itself over the summer – she seems a good influence on him._

Thoughtful, Hermione turned the page again and scanned the September 1976 health check record, expecting to see more of the same; she was wrong. _Notes: No significant weight loss this time and no evidence of injury – evident change in circumstances at home. Hormone levels have altered, especially testosterone – possible recent loss of virginity? _Hermione stopped reading in order to shift uncomfortably – she really, really didn't need to know anything about Snape's sex life, and it was a little troubling that the Healers could tell this sort of thing. Fidgeting, she kept reading, prepared to slam the book shut if it continued speculating along those lines, although to her relief there was no further mention of the topic. _Overall impression is not favourable despite this. Severus is as withdrawn as ever but he seems very angry and defensive; there is a new hardness in him. I asked him how his summer went and he barely responded; I asked him how Miss Evans was and he replied that he did not know. Clearly they have not been reconciled, which is a shame, and he is clearly upset about it still. I suspect this will be a troubling year._

That had proved to be an understatement. The first incident occurred a week later; according to witnesses, there had been an argument between Snape and the Marauders which had led to Snape hexing Lupin, whereupon he had been set upon by both Sirius and James. Hermione read through half a dozen accounts of similar occurrences; Snape was evidently no longer in conflict with his own House, and seemed to be focusing all his energy on his feud with the Marauders, which was starting to grow dangerous. Some of the spells being used were quite dark – there were several references to a slicing hex that Madam Pomfrey hadn't seen before that proved difficult to treat – and their confrontations were growing more aggressive.

At the end of November Hermione found a page very densely filled with the nurse's writing – what on earth had happened? She investigated and found that the record of this single incident went on for three pages. It had obviously been something serious. Abruptly she remembered the Shrieking Shack – this must have been when Snape encountered the transformed Lupin for the first time. She had only heard biased accounts of what happened; the general consensus was that it had been a prank gone wrong, but Snape's absolute and slightly insane fury suggested that he felt otherwise. And there had been something about James Potter saving him, too, hadn't there?

Taking a quick break from her reading, she changed into her pyjamas and cleaned her teeth before curling up behind her spelled bed curtains once more and making sure she was comfortable. This was a long account, she would need to be comfortable and settled; she suspected she would need to concentrate. Madam Pomfrey had abandoned her usual note-taking style and had written this more as a journal entry.

_I was woken tonight by a panic-stricken James Potter. Disaster; Severus has learned about Remus Lupin's lycanthropy, in the worst possible circumstances. James admitted to me that he, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew have known about their friend's condition for years, but have never told anyone else. It seems that Severus discovered that they had a secret and has been spending some time attempting to discover what. James didn't want to tell me the truth, but he eventually confessed that Sirius told Severus how to bypass the Whomping Willow – without telling him what would be at the other end. James went after Severus as soon as he found out, but he was too late. He arrived just in time to drag Severus out of the way of the werewolf._

_Thank the Fates, Severus is not physically harmed – he was not bitten, although apparently it was a very close thing. I cannot get a coherent account out of Severus – the boy is terrified. I have never seen him so afraid, and he is clearly in shock. I have decided to sedate him and allow him to sleep off the worst of it. In the morning the Headmaster will be speaking with Sirius, James and Remus, although it is doubtful the latter will remember anything – he will be horrified when he realises he came close to attacking someone. After we have some idea of what happened, I will bring Severus round and see how he is. I have a bad feeling about this._

* * *

><p><em>I was right to feel uneasy, it seems. Today is one of the worst days of my career, and I thought I had seen it all by now. I have never felt so angry with the Headmaster.<em>

_At dawn I went to the Whomping Willow to collect Remus, and gently explained something of the story to him – that a student had bypassed the tree and seen him, transformed. I reassured him that he hadn't hurt anyone, and tended his usual scratches and small wounds, before leaving the Headmaster to tell him the full story and interview James and Sirius. It turns out that Sirius deliberately goaded Severus and told him that if he went into the tunnel under the Willow last night – he specified last night, the full moon night; there can be no mistake – then he would find out what the Marauders had been hiding. Severus believed him, unfortunately; I wish he had mistrusted what he was told, as he so often did._

_James seems in shock from what has happened. He told us that Sirius had seemed pleased with himself and had admitted casually that he'd come up with a way to scare Severus off; when James eventually got the truth out of him, he realised instantly that Remus would kill Severus without knowing what he was doing, and went after him. He caught up with Severus at the far end of the tunnel; they argued, and the noise attracted the werewolf. I don't know how the two of them got away._

_The Headmaster spoke to the three Gryffindors at some length before asking me to bring Severus round and get his side of the story. I did so. Severus was still very badly shaken; I do not know what he had expected to find, but a werewolf clearly wasn't it. He was still scared, although trying very hard not to show it. It is when boys try so hard to be men that they betray their true age; it is rare to see him so vulnerable. His memory is patchy and he is still not quite his usual coherent self, but he confirms that Sirius told him not only how to bypass the Willow but when to do it, and he very clearly recalls the werewolf. I told the Headmaster this, and stayed with him as he went to speak to Severus._

Here the mediwitch's handwriting grew a little shakier, which was probably a bad sign, Hermione considered as she read on with a queasy feeling in her stomach.

_His first words were, "Mr. Snape, I must ask you to swear to me that you will not allow anyone else to find out what has happened." Then he went on to explain that if people learned what Remus was, then he would be expelled, which would be unfair because it was not Remus' fault, and that the security measures in place were sufficient to prevent accidents – the werewolf could not get out, and nobody could get in by accident. He did not ask how Severus was feeling, or if he was all right, or show any concern for him at all. As he was talking, I watched Severus' face; it took him a few moments to work out what was happening, since he was still groggy from the sedation and still partly in shock, but I saw very clearly the moment he realised what this meant. His expression was absolutely terrible; I have never seen that look of pure betrayal on anyone's face before and I hope never to see it again._

_When the Headmaster finished his explanation, Severus asked politely (too politely) what was going to happen to Sirius. The Headmaster looked puzzled and replied that, naturally, Sirius would receive a detention for such a misguided prank, but having spoken to the boys he believed that the intention had only been to frighten Severus, and that as there had been no real harm done, that would be the end of the matter. _

_I cannot believe he is treating this so lightly, so it is not surprising that Severus did not seem willing to accept it either. He started getting upset and responded that Sirius had been trying to get him killed. The Headmaster told him bluntly not to be so dramatic, that he was mistaken, that Sirius had not intended him to be harmed. Severus grew more upset and asked what would happen if he did tell someone, and – this is the part I find hardest to believe – the Headmaster told him that if he did, he would be expelled, then added that unless Severus swore to him that he would tell nobody, his memory would be forcibly modified before he left the Infirmary._

_I cannot think of a way to describe what happened next without sounding melodramatic, but I saw something die in Severus' eyes. He has unusual eyes and they have always been difficult to read. I was watching him very closely, and he looked terribly wounded, stunned almost, and hurt in a way I don't fully understand – but he didn't seem surprised, which is the worst thing. I saw something break in him, and the defiant anger I have grown used to seeing faded away, as if he had somehow lost heart. He looked almost defeated as he promised the Headmaster that he would keep quiet._

_I intervened then and told the Headmaster to stop upsetting my patient – as he left, he at least had the decency to look ashamed of what he had done. I kept Severus under observation for the rest of the day, not that there was much to see; he didn't move at all, except to use the bathroom, just sat on his bed hugging his knees and stared at the wall. His expression was blank. I have no idea what he was thinking or feeling, only my own imaginings, which I suspect are not accurate in this case. This is not an ordinary boy and it is not an ordinary incident. His sleep was very disturbed through the early part of the night, and he was clearly having nightmares; when I next checked on him, he was awake and had returned to his previous attitude, save that he was no longer looking at the wall but was instead watching the moon out of the window._

_I need sleep myself now. In the morning I will check him over once more, and then I must release him to return to class._

* * *

><p><em>Severus has just left to go down to breakfast, not that I expect he will eat much; he ate nothing yesterday. He no longer seems in shock, but he is certainly far from recovered; he is all but mute and will not look at me, hiding behind his hair in a way I haven't seen from him in years. He is very pale and withdrawn and I do not like his eyes – his expression is still blank, he is hiding whatever he is feeling.<em>

_I think that in two years' time there will be another Death Eater with a grudge in the ranks of You-Know-Who, and the worst part is that I do not think I can blame him. _

Hermione very slowly put the book down and fumbled under her pillow for her handkerchief, suddenly aware that she was crying. It seemed that Snape's account in their third year had been the true one, although he had been so frighteningly angry and unstable that it was small wonder none of them had believed him. Sirius really had tried to kill him, and not only had there been no attempt at punishing him, Snape had been threatened with expulsion and memory modification. In essence, Dumbledore had told Snape that his life wasn't worth defending, that his death wouldn't be much more than a mild inconvenience.

"My God," she whispered to Crookshanks, shivering with the horror of what she had just read. "It's no wonder he hates the Marauders so much." It was no wonder that he had revealed Lupin's secret to the school, either – yet again, he had been attacked by a werewolf, and this time while he was trying to defend students, and yet again Sirius had been allowed to get away with assaulting him. The circumstances had been very different, naturally, but still, it was no wonder Snape had been so... demented.

Wiping her eyes, she blew her nose and knew she didn't want to read any more. She had a feeling it was only going to get worse. "Then again, I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, so I suppose I might as well. If I get this finished, then tomorrow I can go and see Madam Pomfrey – I need to be able to talk about this or I'll go mad, and I need to calm down before I see Snape again," she told the cat_. _She tried to imagine what would happen if she started crying for him during Potions, and failed.

Slowly she reached for the folder again, with more reluctance than she had ever felt when faced with something new to read, and turned the page to the next incident, dated December.

_Notes: Severus brought in unconscious in the middle of the night by Professor McGonagall; found in third-floor corridor, bleeding badly. Several deep incisive cuts to both wrists, deeper dexter than sinister; no trace of magic – not slicing hex. Muggle penknife was found beside him. All evidence points to self-inflicted, but cannot be sure until he regains consciousness._

_No need to ask Severus what happened; he looked disappointed when he woke up, before losing all expression. Clear suicide attempt. Could possibly be attention seeking but cuts were deep and precise, and he was in side corridor seldom patrolled – sheer luck that Minerva found him. Odd choice of method but seems to be sincere attempted suicide. I would speak to the Headmaster if I thought it would do any good. Seems nothing I can do for Severus except try to keep an eye on him and hope he does not try again – I suspect if he does, he will succeed._

"Oh, God," Hermione whispered yet again. Madam Pomfrey had said that the attempt was years ago, when Snape had been younger, but she hadn't realised she meant _that _young. She herself would be turning sixteen next week – she couldn't imagine trying to kill herself, for any reason. Then again, her life hadn't been like his.

Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine the scenario; being abused and neglected at home, then being bullied at school, always ending up getting into trouble no matter who started it and usually facing three or four opponents at once. Falling out with what seemed to be his only friend, and then someone attempting to get him killed and being allowed to get away with it, finding out that his life didn't matter even to the people who were supposed to be looking after him. No... she could start to see why he might have felt like that was the best option remaining to him.

Wiping her eyes again, she looked back at the book. Had it been a cry for help? By the sound of it he had tried quite hard to make sure he wouldn't be found, but there were more reliable ways to kill yourself. Even in the students' stores, there were plenty of toxic Potions ingredients, or the slicing hex that had been mentioned before would be better than a knife, or he could simply have thrown himself off the Astronomy Tower. Or just waited a few days and picked suicide by werewolf, which would have been ironic, poetic justice in a macabre sort of way.

She felt a little sick at treating this so lightly, but it was that or go into hysterics. If this was what his life had truly been like... then, under the circumstances, he was actually a comparatively nice and reasonable man. Surely anyone else would have become a permanent sociopath, instead of only an occasional one. Swallowing, she read on.

The next incidents were noted only because Snape had been the instigator; he wasn't injured again for some time. The Marauders had presumably been in disarray after what had happened, which left them vulnerable. Just before Christmas, Sirius was found unconscious in a corridor, having been comprehensively beaten up; Snape made no attempt to deny responsibility and had the remains of recently-healed cuts on his knuckles, and although it seemed unlikely he could have managed it alone he refused to say whether anyone else had been involved. Two days later, Peter Pettigrew fell down the stairs as the result of a well-timed Trip Jinx, taking Lupin with him. It wasn't until March that the Marauders seemed to rally; an argument during a Charms lesson dissolved into a brawl that resulted in all four Gryffindors and their Slytherin victim needing medical assistance.

From that point on it seemed that war had been declared. The feuding students seemed to be more careful about being caught, but when the summer health check came around Snape had quite a lot of minor injuries in various stages of healing and the anger almost radiated off him.

At the start of the seventh year there was an incident report before the first health check; according to witnesses, Sirius and Pettigrew had started taunting Snape on Platform 9¾ before the train had even left the station, and had provoked him until he'd attacked them both in full view of most of the school. James and Lupin had promptly come to their friends' defence, as had half of Gryffindor by the sound of it, and that had stirred several of Slytherin to wade in and help. The fight had been broken up by the interference of the station staff and the crew of the train, and by all accounts Snape had needed to be physically restrained.

There had been several nasty incidents after that, all involving Snape and Sirius and occasionally Pettigrew, but after Christmas it seemed to have stopped. Snape seemed to have gone underground. There was no doubt that the conflict was still going on, but there were no further entries until the Easter term's check-up, when Madam Pomfrey rather dolefully noted that Snape had some nasty scars and had clearly been looking after his own injuries, far more competently than a teenage boy should be capable of – should need to be capable of. Whatever had been happening was now being kept private; there were no records of further incidents.

Finally, in the summer of 1978, there was one last entry. _Final notes: Severus Snape will graduate top of the year, and it seems inevitable that he will follow his housemates to join You-Know-Who. He was a withdrawn, neglected and unhappy boy, and he has become a withdrawn, neglected and angry young man. Hogwarts has failed him. I do not expect to see him again._

* * *

><p>Hermione had eventually cried herself to sleep once she had finished reading the dismal account. Not willing to face anyone the next morning, she applied more of Snape's ointment to her hand, noting that the bruising was much better now, and dressed hurriedly before heading for the Infirmary rather than going to breakfast. Madam Pomfrey didn't seem remotely surprised to see her, and ushered her into her office and gave her a cup of tea as she gently took the book away and put it back in the cabinet before sitting opposite her. "I am sorry, my dear. It is harrowing reading, isn't it?"<p>

"It's horrible," Hermione said quietly, staring into her tea and shivering. "I – nobody should have to go through... that."

"Yes," the nurse agreed equally quietly. "In many ways, Professor Snape was one of Hogwarts' greatest failures. However, you must understand, Miss Granger, this is still not the full story. There were many more incidents that I knew nothing about, and often there was no proof of what had actually happened."

"But the Shrieking Shack... what the Headmaster did." She swallowed. "Professor Snape said that was what had happened, in the third year. None of us believed him – he was so angry, it was scary. It was like he'd lost his mind. I've never seen so much rage." It had been seriously frightening to discover that their cold, aloof, distant teacher held that much raw and volatile emotion bottled up inside him.

"There were reasons," Madam Pomfrey told her gently but firmly. "I still do not agree with Professor Dumbledore's decision, but there were reasons. He was trying to protect the Gryffindors; he was right that Remus did not deserve to be exposed, and he was always very proud that a member of the notorious House of Black had escaped Slytherin, and he was terribly fond of the so-called Marauders. It was not intended as an attack on Professor Snape, although it is not surprising that he took it as such."

"He tried to kill himself because of it."

"Possibly, yes," the mediwitch agreed, "but that was not the only reason, I suspect. Nor was it a completely serious attempt – even at only sixteen, had Professor Snape truly intended to die, he would have done so. I spoke with him some years later about that particular incident."

"And what did he say?" she half-whispered, looking up.

"That he had elected to leave it to luck. He truly did not care whether he lived or died at that point, so he says, so he chose an attempt that had about even odds of succeeding. If someone found him in time, he would live; if they did not, he would die. He claims not to have cared what the final outcome was."

"You don't believe him?"

"I honestly don't know, Miss Granger. Professor Snape does not see the world in the same way that most people do; at the same time, sixteen year old boys are capable of a great deal of angst and melodrama, as you will no doubt soon be discovering. I believe he actually cared very much and that he did not wish to die; I believe he did not feel that he could make that choice, so he left it up to Fate."

Hermione sat and drank her tea in silence for a while, thinking. "Why are you telling me all this, Madam Pomfrey?" she asked finally. "Why did you give that to me to read? Those records are supposed to be confidential, and I don't need to know any of that to help you with Healing."

The nurse sat back and glanced up at the picture frame on the wall, where Dilys once again stood watching them. "Truthfully, I am not sure, Hermione," she said finally. "Certainly I should not have done so, and I would not wish to burden anyone with the full truth of that file. But something tells me that this situation is different, and..." She half-smiled. "To be brutally honest, my dear, I want Professor Snape to have someone else on his side, and I would like someone else to share my knowledge. You are likely to have a great deal of contact with him if you continue with Healing, particularly if you choose to join the Order once you are of age, as you no doubt will. The two of you are not as dissimilar as you might think; I believe you could potentially be friends at some stage. Since Hell will freeze over before Professor Snape will make any move in that direction, the first step must lie with you."

"I don't want to be his friend!" she exclaimed, alarmed by the idea.

"Why not?"

"He's my teacher."

"There is no rule prohibiting friendship between staff and students. You spend time with Professor McGonagall. And with me – we are clearly no longer merely pupil and teacher, are we?"

"That's different," she protested weakly.

"It isn't, but you can relax," Madam Pomfrey told her gently. "I'm not going to try and force you together. I never planned on this, but when I saw you trying to help him I thought you could be good for him. He needs an ally, Hermione, now more than he ever has."

"Maybe," she conceded, thinking back over her reading. "But not me. He hates me, for a start, but even if he didn't, I'm a student. It might not be against the rules, but he won't see it like that."

"I'm not convinced that he hates you at all," Dilys interjected from the wall. "I have very seldom seen Severus accept any form of comfort whatsoever, and certainly not with so little resistance."

"He needed someone and I was just there, that's all. He's certainly not pleased now it's over." She thought of the little jar of bruise ointment uncomfortably; she'd thought it was just an apology for hurting her and an acknowledgement. She hoped there wasn't anything more to it than that.

Dilys snorted. "He didn't need anyone at all, girl. He has endured far worse. Severus doesn't need any help, not of that sort. He can endure more than you can even imagine, completely alone, and will do many times before this is over. What he needs is someone to remind him that he's human, someone to be on his side. Poppy tries, but the pattern is too well established – he sees her only when he is injured, so he has come to associate her with pain. He knows this, too, or he would never have let you touch him."

"I only held his hand," she muttered uncomfortably. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Yes, it was," Madam Pomfrey replied gently. "Professor Snape is a very isolated person. I do not know the last time that someone did something so benign as hold his hand when he was in pain. He won't accept that level of contact from me except in real extremis. For him to allow even that much of a liberty from you... it means something, Hermione. I don't know what, yet, but I think we need to find out. Hence my decision to let you find out more about him."

"It's not a bad thing," Dilys added. "One of a Healer's most important tasks is to help comfort her patients and improve their quality of life. In addition, you are within Hogwarts – nothing untoward is going to happen. Not that it would anyway – Merlin, girl, what do you think this is?" she added more sharply, looking amused.

Looking up, Hermione smiled reluctantly, feeling a bit stupid. "No, okay. I'm being daft. It's just... strange. I don't like Professor Snape, and he doesn't like me, and I don't want to feel sorry for him, and I'm sure if he knew I did he'd be furious. But Thursday night... something changed. I don't understand it."

"Nor do we," Madam Pomfrey agreed quietly.

"'We'?"

Dilys chuckled softly. "Professor Snape's current allies, my dear. The good nurse here, myself, and the portrait of Phineas Nigellus – the only former Headmaster who was in Slytherin. We're glad to welcome you to the team, if you wish."

Hermione processed that. A Healer and two portraits of dead people; it wasn't much. She nodded slowly, before changing the subject – she still had a lot of questions. "Who was Miss Evans? You never mentioned her by her first name."

Madam Pomfrey smiled sadly and shook her head. "That secret, I will not tell. I'm not supposed to know, and Professor Snape would be devastated to find out that I do. He would also never forgive you learning of it. No doubt you could find out easily enough from other sources, but I must ask you not to try. It is far more private than anything else. All I will tell you is that she is dead."

Taken aback by that, Hermione nodded and firmly squashed down the thread of curiosity. "All right."

"Now," the nurse said more briskly, "when you are up to more harrowing reading, there is more you need to see. Professor Snape's medical history as a member of staff. However, that book does not leave this office – you will have to read it here in your spare time. I cannot risk anything else. And I don't want you alone when you read it – the account of the first war is extremely distressing. It must wait a while, though – you aren't ready to see it yet."

"It's really that bad?" she asked uncertainly.

"Worse," Dilys told her bluntly. "Whatever you are imagining, the reality is worse."

"Oh, good," she said weakly, before asking something that had been worrying her. "How do I face him now? I – I don't see how I can just sit through Potions like nothing's changed."

Both women looked somewhat alarmed. "You must," Madam Pomfrey told her urgently. "IfI didn't think you capable of doing so, I would never have begun this. You _cannot _allow Professor Snape to find out about this."

She frowned, taken aback by the vehemence. "Why?" she asked warily – Snape in a rage was terrifying, admittedly, but he wasn't actually allowed to hurt her. Their reactions seemed a little extreme for detention.

"Because Severus is at times a thin-skinned, overly sensitive, cynical and paranoid fool," Dilys said caustically.

Madam Pomfrey gave the portrait a look of rebuke before turning back to Hermione. "Professor Snape is rather pessimistic by nature," she said carefully. "He will never believe the possibility of an innocent explanation or benign motives; instead he will suspect some joke at his expense, if not an open attack on him. If he learns what I have permitted you to see so far, and what I intend you to learn in the future... I don't know what will happen. At the very least he will do everything in his power to get you expelled..."

"What?"

"He can't," the nurse reassured her, "because you haven't done anything wrong; if there is any fault, it lies with me. But he will try. He will also make your life a living hell, Hermione; he is admittedly vindictive by nature and his past has caused him to develop an irrational hatred of being mocked that blinds him to gentler things. Most people believe that he has no sense of humour, simply because past experience has left him unable to avoid taking jokes personally. He would be terribly hurt by what we are doing; he would see it as a betrayal, and Professor Snape takes loyalty very seriously. He also responds to pain with anger, as you have seen before. For all our sakes, and his as well, you cannot let him find out."

"For his sake as well?" she asked. "Is it so important that I spare his feelings?"

Her doubtful tone earned an approving look from the nurse, and Dilys chuckled softly. "Hah. I knew I was right about you, girl. No, not for his sake alone; we're fond of Severus, but mollycoddling him has never worked terribly well." Their smiles faded, and the portrait continued more seriously, "Frankly, you – as in the Order – can't afford for him to be distracted by hurt feelings. He is barely balancing as it is, and any more strain could well send him over the edge. Lose Severus, and I think you'll lose the war. You don't know a tenth of what he actually does for the Order, but believe me, you need him. Helping him stay sane could be the most important thing you ever do."

"On a more logical, practical note," Madam Pomfrey said quietly, "nothing _has _changed. These events all took place many years ago. Your knowing about them now changes nothing, save perhaps your attitude towards Professor Snape; I admit he is an unpleasant and dangerous man, but he has reasons for being the way he is, and in truth his being that way may well keep us all alive."

"How does he do it?" Hermione asked softly, remembering again the mute suffering in his eyes. "How can he go through that, over and over again?"

Dilys chuckled softly. "Because he's made of steel wire and stubbornness," she replied almost affectionately. "Believe me, girl, he's a lot tougher than he seems. He might look like nothing more than skin stretched over bones and bitterness, but he's surprisingly strong."

Hermione glanced at the mediwitch for confirmation of this, and Madam Pomfrey nodded, smiling slightly. "Aptly put, Dilys. Yes, Hermione, Professor Snape is a lot stronger than he might have appeared on Thursday night. He does look rather unhealthy, I know, but he isn't as bad as he seems. You'll understand more as you read through his adult records. He is underweight, but as you have seen, he always has been; he has a high metabolism at the best of times, and it is increased under stress."

"He doesn't seem to eat anything," she volunteered.

"Ah, you noticed? Good, just don't let him catch you watching him. No, he doesn't eat in the Great Hall; he controls his diet himself, and eats more healthily than most people in this school. He exercises regularly – he goes running most mornings, I believe, or he always used to. He administers his own medication, too, and whilst I certainly don't condone everything he takes, he knows what he is doing. He knows how important his health is to the war effort; he looks after himself, most of the time. Physically, at least."

Hermione nodded slowly, surprised to find that she felt reassured on learning this. She had been worrying about him, she realised. The conversation had made her feel better, but... "How do I pretend this didn't happen?" she asked quietly. "I understand why it's important, but I don't know if I'm that good an actor. I don't know how to look at him without imagining what I've read."

"Severus himself will help you there," Dilys said dryly. "I have no doubt he will be his usual miserable self in your lessons; you will find it remarkably easy to forget that he is human. Which is one of the many reasons why he does it."

Despite herself, she started trying not to laugh. "Hearing you saying things like that isn't going to help."

The portrait smiled almost impishly at her. "Nonsense. It does Severus good to have friends tease him, even if he can't see the difference between that and spite. And you will find life much more enjoyable if you can learn to privately laugh at it. Learning to hide what you're really thinking will stand you in good stead later on."

Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You'll be just fine, dear."

* * *

><p>After her next Potions lesson, Hermione lingered behind as everyone else filed out, making a show of clearing away her things. Once the classroom was empty, she ventured slowly up to the front of the room and hesitated in front of Snape's desk, staring at the top of his head and his greasy hair as he apparently focused all his attention on the essay in front of him. Without looking up, he snapped, "What do you want, Miss Granger?"<p>

"To return this, sir," she said quietly, taking the small jar of bruise ointment out of her pocket and placing it on the desk beside him. "Thank you."

Still not looking up, he reached out with the hand not holding a quill and scooped the jar deftly out of sight. "Miss Granger," he said equally quietly, his voice less hostile now, "I think this... arrangement... will be more comfortable for both of us if we do not refer to it, yes?"

"Yes, sir," she agreed readily; this was awkward enough as it was.

He nodded fractionally and put his quill down. "It will also be safer, given the way rumours sprout from nothing around here," he noted, before finally looking up; his face was as expressionless as ever. "Nonetheless, you are welcome," he added stiffly, avoiding her eyes for a moment. She fidgeted uneasily, trying to think of something to say in response, but before she could come up with anything he sat back and arched an eyebrow as he looked at her. "I hear your Defence lessons are going well," he observed sardonically, his eyes glittering faintly. "You and your little friends seem to be making an impression on Professor Umbridge."

It was a very innocent comment, on the surface, but Hermione was startled at the rush of relief she felt. Snape knew what was really going on, and wasn't impressed; the other teachers were on their side. Biting her lower lip for a moment to hold back a smile, she replied as neutrally as possible, "I had a few queries about the Ministry's new teaching methods, sir, but Professor Umbridge was kind enough to explain them to me. It is all quite clear now."

The glitter in Snape's eyes intensified. "Yes, I imagine it would be," he murmured, with an odd note in his voice that might be approval. She couldn't really be sure, since Snape had never spoken to her with any emotion in his voice bar irritation before, but it was a nice thought nonetheless. "I do feel that perhaps the Ministry might have chosen a teacher with a little more experience of dealing with children," he murmured, apparently talking to himself now as he picked his quill up once more. "Not teaching them something never prevents them from discovering it for themselves, after all..." Abruptly he seemed to remember that she was standing there and gave her a sharp look. "Dismissed. And try to stay out of trouble."

Thoroughly confused, Hermione nodded wordlessly and made a hasty exit. Had she had the nerve to look back, she would have seen Snape watching her with a satisfied air and smirking, before nodding fractionally and suppressing a soft chuckle as he returned to his marking.

* * *

><p>Severus automatically stopped behind Minerva's chair in the staff room to read the front page of the <em>Prophet <em>over her shoulder, and she automatically twitched it away from him. "Buy your own, cheapskate."

"I wouldn't pay for this rubbish unless there was a world shortage of toilet paper," he retorted. "Was that our esteemed and not remotely photogenic colleague I saw croaking on the front page?"

"You shouldn't say things like that," she murmured half-heartedly with no sincerity whatsoever, and grudgingly opened the paper again so they could both read the article. "High Inquisitor?" she repeated in a voice filled with faintly puzzled utter disdain. "What on earth is that supposed to mean? It's not some reference to the Spanish Inquisition, is it?"

_Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, _Severus thought to himself, and nearly choked trying not to laugh as they read about the latest Educational Decree, still a little adrenaline-silly from the previous night. He was certainly the only person in the staff room who had ever heard of Monty Python; he was probably the only person there who had ever watched a television program at all, come to that. It was a shame, really; he didn't often get the urge to make jokes and it was a little sad that when he did, nobody else would understand. He almost got lost in a vague and mildly disturbing daydream involving Voldemort, Bellatrix and Lucius re-enacting the entire Spanish Inquisition sketch, complete with comfy chair, before forcing himself to pay attention again.

"Percy Weasley should know better," Minerva said disapprovingly. "I must write to Molly and Arthur later. That boy's going to break his mother's heart."

"He's stupid, that's all," Severus replied dismissively. "Given how many children they have, statistically there had to be one idiot – although Ronald seems determined to make it two, occasionally."

She snorted but didn't rise to the bait as they continued reading. "Albus was unable to find anyone else... yes, he said that to me, too. Didn't you apply this time?"

"Of course I did," he said tiredly. "You know he won't hire me. He'd rather have this twisted hag ruining their education than let me near his precious students without a cauldron between us." He knew all the reasons, even agreed with some of them, but it still rankled. He glared at the paper again and froze. "_What _does that say?"

"_Inspections?_" Minerva read out, her expression turning thunderous. "You have _got _to be joking. She gets to _judge _us? I don't believe this! Why didn't Albus say anything to warn us?"

"Because he's a coward," Severus growled murderously. "Let her try it. I dare her to breathe a word against me."

His colleague snorted. "Oh, you'll be fine. You hate the students almost as much as she does; she'll like you."

"What a revolting thought." He took a breath and calmed down a little. "This is nonsense. I may not like any of you, but we're all good teachers and the students mostly do well enough. They can't get rid of any of us this way. And I'm surprised that Lucius is involved; he knows it as well as I do."

"Anything that can destabilise Albus is worth trying," Minerva said grimly. "Our staff is weak in certain areas. They mention Hagrid here; she'll do anything to get rid of him, since he's only half human."

"Filius has goblin blood in him, but she's been perfectly civil to him so far," Severus pointed out. "In fact, she's been less patronising to him than to the rest of us."

"Filius isn't tied to Gryffindor and isn't high in the Order," she reminded him, as if he didn't know that. "Oh, this is an absolute nightmare."

He paused as a happy and very evil thought came to him, and smiled unpleasantly. "I don't think so..."

The older witch gave him a sharp look. "I remember that expression far too well, Severus Snape. What have you just thought of?"

"I'm just imagining the scenario, Minerva. She walks in to one of our lessons, mine or yours, and starts trying to criticise us to our faces, and the only witnesses are students who dislike her. She won't have any allies in the classroom and she'll be trying to be... _sarcastic. _To _us._ Now, isn't that rather a happy thought?"

Minerva stared blankly at him for a moment, and then started to smile.

* * *

><p><em>My first piece of fan art for this story comes from <strong>RaShelli: <strong>_rashelli dot deviantart dot com /art/Agony-260991601**  
><strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_My review count is climbing dramatically. Where did all you people come from?_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>"They dedicate their lives<br>To running all of his  
>He tries to please them all<br>This bitter man he is  
>Throughout his life the same<br>He's battled constantly  
>This fight he cannot win..."<strong>  
>– Metallica, 'Unforgiven'.<p>

* * *

><p>Since that ridiculously brief talk with Snape about how dreadful their Defence lessons were now, Hermione had been doing a lot of thinking, in between all her other work. Clearly, nobody was going to be able to do anything to stop the foul old hag, not with the Ministry giving her so much power, so there was no chance of them getting rid of her any time soon – unless they poisoned her, as Ron had suggested. It was tempting, but no. Equally, there was no chance that she was actually going to teach them anything useful; Hermione had already started putting other books inside her copy of <em>Defensive Magical Theory <em>so she could read something more productive in class, and Harry seemed set to be put in detention every night for the entire year unless his hand fell off first.

The other teachers couldn't help; they had their own inspections to deal with. Trelawney was probably going to get the sack; Ron had told her that the Divination inspection had been a total mess. The Transfiguration inspection they'd seen had been absolutely hilarious, but it would only make Umbridge more determined; the staff had their own problems to worry about, especially since the ones she would most have trusted were all busy with the Order anyway.

So the only other realistic option was to learn it themselves. It had seemed like a good idea to her, and when she raised the subject Ron actually seemed to agree with her, which was something of a record given how much they'd argued this year already, but Harry didn't react in quite the way she'd hoped. In fact, he lost his temper. Again. The best she managed to achieve was to get him to stop shouting long enough to ask him to think about it, before she made her escape; she was due in the Infirmary later for another lesson.

Hermione regarded the mediwitch expectantly that night. "What are we doing today?" Her lessons were never boring, at least.

"Putting what you have learned into practice," the nurse told her. "You will be performing some of the diagnostics I have taught you and recording your findings so I can make sure you understand more than just the theory."

"Okay," she agreed eagerly, already itching to make a start. "Who..."

As if on cue, the door opened, and she turned, ready to start stammering about monthly pains if it was anyone who didn't know why she was really in the hospital wing. The fact that there had been no polite knock should have tipped her off, but it was still a jolt to see Professor Snape giving her a flat and not very nice look.

"Good evening, Severus," Poppy greeted the surly figure of the Potions master cheerfully. "Thank you for agreeing to this."

"You gave me very little choice," he replied flatly in an unfriendly tone, giving Dilys' portrait a venomous glare before stalking forward to stand in the middle of the room and fixing his dark eyes on a point in the distance, scowling.

He didn't seem too pleased about the prospect of acting as a guinea pig. Hermione couldn't blame him; she couldn't say that the idea filled her with joy either. It made sense, since he was going to be her first and hopefully only patient for some time and since the diagnostics wouldn't simply come back clean, but it still meant she was going to be using magic on Professor Snape. It wouldn't be the first time, admittedly, but she didn't think she could keep getting away with it. She gave Poppy a pleading look, which the older witch blithely ignored. "When you're ready, Severus."

His scowl intensified, although he still seemed determined to pretend that there was nobody else in the room with him. After a long moment he moved, lifting his hands and starting to unbutton the cuffs of his robe before working on the other fastenings, still staring fixedly into the distance as he shrugged the heavy garment off his shoulders. Hermione could count on the fingers of one hand the times she had seen him devoid of his infamous billowing robes and have several fingers left over; watching this was just plain weird.

The black frock coat followed, joining the robe on the floor, and he stood in the middle of the room in his shirtsleeves, still glaring at the wall. His white shirt was thin enough that they could see he was wearing what looked like a plain white t-shirt underneath it, and Dilys laughed softly. "Merlin, Severus, must you wear so many layers all the time?"

"The dungeons are very poorly heated," Snape replied, sounding almost defensive. He shifted his weight uneasily, almost fidgeting and very clearly not happy. "Get on with it. I do have work to do."

"Severus, don't be childish," Poppy chided him. "You know you're not finished. You probably know more about Healing than I do; you certainly know more about teaching. If you make everything into a fight, this will take twice as long. Dilys, stop teasing him."

A nerve twitched briefly at the corner of Snape's left eye, his jaw tightening, before he turned abruptly and stalked across the room to a chair, using Summoning charms to snatch his robe and coat on the way past and dropping them on the floor beside it before he sat down and bent to unlace his boots, his lank hair falling forward to hide his face. Discarding his boots and his socks, he stood and slunk barefoot out into the middle of the room again, his expression a blend of self-consciousness and anger as he wrenched at his shirt cuffs. Hermione swallowed hard, giving Madam Pomfrey an uneasy look before reluctantly turning her attention back to Snape.

Moving jerkily now, and with his jaw clenched tightly, Snape half-unbuttoned his shirt before yanking it over his head and taking the t-shirt he wore as an undershirt off with it, and he was suddenly half naked as he dropped the tangle of white cloth to the floor and straightened to glare at the wall again. Despite herself, Hermione stared; she wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the sight of a shirtless man, but Snape wasn't exactly normal.

For a start, he was incredibly thin; his ribs were all clearly visible, his stomach was concave and even his collarbones stood out clearly. His hip bones were so pronounced just at the edge of his trousers that it almost seemed they were all that kept his clothing up. He had some body hair, but not much, and a half-healed, scabbed-over cut raked across his chest through the thickest part. The Dark Mark stood out clear and black on his arm, and she jerked her eyes away from it and from the scars on his wrists uncomfortably.

Those weren't his only scars, either, she realised as her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing. His sallow skin made some of them hard to see, but in places the shadows fell oddly and revealed lots of small nicks and furrows in his flesh, including a nasty-looking one cutting across his stomach and his hip to vanish into his trousers on his left side that turned out to be two scars on closer inspection, one from what looked like an appendix removal and one that could have been anything. Caught up in studying him, Hermione began walking in a slow circle around him, and gasped aloud when she saw his back.

Here, too, his thinness was painfully apparent; his shoulder blades almost sliced through his skin, his ribs showed from this angle as well and even the knobs of his spine were clearly visible. But it was the condition of his skin that she noticed, especially since he had no hair on his back to obscure any of the gory details. More half-healed wounds striped his shoulders and upper back, the scabs dark and dry, and in places those wounds were crooked because of existing scars. His skin was almost patchy with scar tissue in the worst spots, ranging from very old white marks to more recent reddish ones. She could see burn scars, and clean cuts, and jagged marks that could be anything, and smaller ones that were hard to identify. In addition to the scars, his body was mottled with bruises, mostly on his ribs and arms but also in an area on his back almost as though he had been thrown into something.

"Enjoying the view?" he hissed suddenly, startling her back to reality. His voice was icy cold and when she moved around him to see his face his black eyes were burning with fury as a flush rose in his cheeks.

"...I'm sorry, sir," she whispered uneasily, trying not to back away too obviously.

"Severus, leave her alone. You agreed to this. And you're not finished yet."

"No," he snapped, flushing again. "I am not humiliating myself any further. This is all you get."

_Thank God for that, _Hermione thought fervently. One, he'd kill her. Two, while she knew that Healers often dealt with nudity, she didn't feel ready to do so yet and even if she did, Hell would freeze over before she would be comfortable with the idea of Snape in that situation. Three, he'd kill her. Again. It was a little strange that he was finding it so embarrassing, though, she mused, glancing uncertainly at him again – surely he must be used to being exposed in front of Healers. Although admittedly not apprentice Healers who were students of his and who happened to be friends with the boy he hated above all others... No, fine, she could understand why he might be rather uncomfortable. Besides, he was no oil painting; he must know what he looked like, and she couldn't imagine any man would be pleased to have a teenage girl viewing them under these circumstances.

"Well, get on with it," Snape growled, interrupting her woolgathering. Barely suppressing a startled squeak, Hermione nodded and scrabbled for ink and parchment and her wand and set to work.

None of the diagnostic charms she was using were giving back normal healthy results; it was enough to make her start feeling queasy after a while. This man had so much wrong with him, it was a miracle he was still standing. Most of the time she was just guessing at what the abnormal results meant; she hoped she was wrong about a lot of them. And every charm seemed unable to cope with the Dark Mark; she could do nothing anywhere near his left arm, and tried to avoid looking at the brand.

At one point she said absently, "I don't quite recognise the results I'm getting here..."

She nearly fell over from shock when Snape replied crisply, "Where?" and she looked around to find him scowling at her and nobody else in the room. Shirtless and on the defensive or not, his expression was still profoundly intimidating.

"Er..."

He glared at her. "Madam Pomfrey was called away. So she claims," he added in a sour undertone; he looked livid to have been left in this situation, but Hermione realised that the anger in his face couldn't have been directed at her or he would already have lost his temper. "Where are you getting the unfamiliar results?"

Hesitantly, she pointed, and he growled in exasperation. "I don't have eyes in the back of my skull, Miss Granger, contrary to popular belief. _Show me._"

Biting her lip, Hermione very gingerly laid two fingertips on his back, trying to pick a spot without any scars; his skin felt cool to the touch and he flinched noticeably when she made contact. "Ah. That would be the liver, viewed from an incorrect angle. Specific hepatic charms should be cast here," he told her in a tone that strove for neutrality without quite making it, laying a hand on his side. He was avoiding eye contact and was so tense that he was practically vibrating. "Your readings indicate cirrhosis caused by recurrent low-level chronic hepatitis."

"Jaundice?" she asked, surprised.

"Obviously," he growled. "Did you really think my skin is naturally this colour? Even living underground won't do this to someone." He had a point there, although she knew better than to say so.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the cause of the liver damage, but she restrained herself, partly to avoid triggering his temper and partly because she really didn't want to know right now. Nodding, she wrote it down; Madam Pomfrey would be going through this with her later anyway.

Horrible and nerve-wracking or not, it was also fascinating, and she had no idea how much time had passed before she spoke again. "Sir, there's another reading here I don't understand. It's not related to a specific organ, but it doesn't seem to be a wound or spell residue."

"Where?"

"Um..." She swallowed hard and started blushing, sitting back on her heels behind him and staring up at the patchy skin of his back, praying that he wouldn't turn around and look at her. "Below your waist," she mumbled finally, and heard a sharp hiss of indrawn breath as he visibly tensed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

After far too long a pause, he said curtly, "Nothing for you to concern yourself with. It is no part of your training as a wartime Healer."

"We won't always be at war, sir," she protested softly. "And what am I supposed to do if I find an injury I don't recognise? Apologise to the patient and tell them that I can't treat them because my training was too narrowly focused to be useful?"

"You won't find this problem in any of your patients," he growled. "For once in your life, Miss Granger, _let it go _and stop sticking your nose into everything where it's not wanted all the time_._"

"Severus," Dilys interrupted quietly from the wall in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "She will find out, soon. She has to. Would you rather she heard it from you, or from us?"

Snape stared into the distance for a while, a vein pulsing briefly in his temple; his thin face lost most of what little colour it possessed, save for bright spots of red over his cheekbones, and he had started shivering very slightly. Hermione scooted back and got her legs under her, ready to run if it looked like an explosion was imminent, and tried not to panic as she wondered what on earth was so bad. She had no idea what the reading meant, but...

"Are you bound by the oaths of confidentiality yet, Miss Granger?" Snape said finally in a rather strained voice.

"No, sir," she replied honestly, "but I would never discuss anything of your medical history with someone who didn't already know." Gryffindor she might be, but she didn't have a death wish; besides, it wasn't anyone else's business.

She heard him whisper something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an obscenity, and a nasty one at that, before he shook his head slowly and abruptly spun around, stalking past her to the chair and beginning to retrieve his clothing in silence. He wasn't quite scrambling into his garments again, but he wasn't hanging around either, getting dressed in record time. Evidently he considered that the lesson was over, and Hermione certainly wasn't going to argue with him, not when he was in this mood.

Fully dressed, Snape swept past her and to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, turning his head just enough to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, keeping his head down so that his hair obscured his face, before turning away from her once more. She heard him mutter something under his breath, too quietly to be heard, before he lifted his head and stared at her and she took an involuntary step back at the look on his face. The emotions in his eyes possessed an almost tangible force that hit her like a physical blow; his rage and pain screamed from their dark depths, shadowed with something almost like shame.

A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "Oh, God," she whispered, barely aware that she was speaking as she stared at him. "You mean..."

The turbulent storm in his eyes increased. "_Yes,_" he hissed, a muscle jumping in his cheek, before he dropped his eyes, wrenching the door open and all but bolting from the room, leaving her staring after him in shock as his hurried footsteps receded down the corridor. When she glanced up, Dilys' frame was empty. Hermione turned to stare after the departed Snape for a moment as it began to sink in, feeling icy horror starting to fill her, before she turned away. Carefully laying her notes down neatly and putting her wand away, she unhurriedly and calmly walked through the hospital wing to the small bathroom, where she proceeded to be violently sick.

Dry-eyed and numb, she finally left the bathroom and found Madam Pomfrey waiting for her. The nurse said gently, "Hermione, I am sorry. I didn't intend for you to learn... that... yet. And I would have told you far less bluntly, to try and reduce the shock."

She shook her head. "He wasn't... blunt about it," she said dully. "He was actually... I don't know. It could have been worse. I don't know why he even told me, though. Well, he didn't exactly _tell _me, but I don't know why he let me work it out..."

"Because I would have eventually told you if he hadn't," Poppy replied gravely. "I didn't realise there were recent enough traces for you to pick it up, or I would have stayed with you and prevented you finding out."

"You didn't realise?" Hermione repeated quietly, still feeling rather detached about it as she accepted a glass of water to wash the taste out of her mouth.

"Professor Snape doesn't tell me everything. And I learned long ago not to ask about... certain things. He is more than capable of treating the physical after-effects himself and he doesn't like anyone knowing. I'm not sure that even the Headmaster knows."

"Lucky for the Headmaster, then," she said bitterly. "I wish I didn't know." Chilled, she fought not to shiver and wrapped her robe around herself more tightly. "I really, really wish I didn't know." Swallowing bile, she made herself ask, "There's no chance that he's gay or something, is there?"

"No. Definitely, absolutely not. And even if he were, that level of damage isn't normal."

She nodded dully; no, that would be too easy. She had always seen him as rather asexual anyway, frankly. Gritting her teeth and swallowing again, she made herself think it. _Professor Snape has been raped. _Apparently not for the first time, either. She gagged, retching for a moment, but there was nothing left to bring up.

"I am sorry, my dear."

"Why? Isn't this what you wanted? Fine, you win, I don't hate him any more. I can't hate him after learning that. Happy?"

"Hermione..."

"No! I didn't want to know that!" She tasted salt on her lips and realised that she had started crying, which only made her angrier. She had been perfectly happy hating Snape and dismissing him as a cold-hearted and untrustworthy, unpleasant man. Learning that he had valid reasons for being that way and that he suffered a lot in silence that nobody had any idea about for the sake of people who hated him was destroying all her comforting illusions.

"I'm sure you didn't," the older witch said quietly. "I didn't want to know, when I first learned. Even now, I don't ask, because I still don't want to know. But this is part of what being a Healer means, especially a wartime Healer for the Order of the Phoenix." She gave Hermione a clean handkerchief. "And we only have to deal with the aftermath," she added gently. "Severus – Professor Snape – is the one who has to endure it."

"How...?" Hermione asked thickly, trying in vain to dry her eyes as she started to shake. She couldn't speak well enough to finish the question, though. _How does he do it? And why? _What could be so important to him that he would be willing to endure that kind of abuse? He had been a Death Eater once. What had Voldemort done, to make Snape hate him so?

"He's Severus Snape," Dilys responded quietly, trying for matter of fact and not quite getting there. The portrait shrugged when Hermione looked up and tried to focus on her. "It's the only answer we have, Hermione. By all rational laws, he should have been killed long before the end of the first war. I have no idea how he's survived this long, especially as I'm certain we still don't know everything that happens to him. Something keeps him going, but I'll be damned if I know what it is. He is... frighteningly strong."

Hermione blew her nose hard, starting to feel marginally better, at least physically. She gestured vaguely at her notes. "If I'm right about even half of that, he should be dead now."

The mediwitch picked up the sheaf of parchment and leafed through it quickly. "No, you're more or less spot on, my dear. Well done. And try not to worry too much – it will take far more than just this to stop Professor Snape for long. Anyone else would be dead, true, but as Dilys said – this is Severus." The nurse smiled rather sadly. "Even now, I am constantly amazed at what he manages to endure. Half the time it doesn't even slow him down."

"He even _looks _half dead," Hermione commented, hiccupping as she fought down her sobs and forced herself to calm down a bit before she became hysterical. She thought for a moment. "No, he doesn't, actually. He should do, but he doesn't. It's like... I don't know, a greyhound or something. It's not normal for a human to be that skinny, but somehow it works for him? I can't explain it."

"I've heard worse descriptions of him," Dilys responded with a laugh. "I daresay Severus has, too."

Madam Pomfrey looked like she was trying not to laugh as she nodded. "Rather clumsy when compared to your usual standards, Miss Granger, but I understand exactly what you mean. Normal rules do not apply to Severus Snape. Now, if you'd like to bring your notes into my office, I'll make some tea and start teaching you why that is, as much as we've been able to puzzle out."

* * *

><p>Potions the following day proved to be one of the worst lessons of Hermione's academic life. Snape spent most of it glaring at her, apart from the almost challenging look on his face every time he sat down that dared her to flinch or wince, and you didn't need to be a know-it-all to spot that he was just waiting for the slightest excuse to rip her apart. Hopefully only verbally, but she honestly wasn't sure. Even Harry didn't often attract this level of rage. Clearly Snape felt extremely embarrassed now that she knew more of the truth than almost anyone else, and the man was obviously finding it difficult to reconcile Hermione the Healer's apprentice with Hermione the student. Just as clearly he had absolutely no faith in her promise to keep silent.<p>

All in all, it made for a very uncomfortable atmosphere, especially as a sleepless night and another fit of crying had left her exhausted and on edge anyway. For once it was easy to leave Neville, Harry and Ron to their own devices; not only did she absolutely not want to do anything to draw Snape's anger, but it was all she could do to keep an eye on her own potion, let alone anyone else's, especially since she had such a lot to think about.

Last night had been horribly upsetting, but it had also been enlightening. By all accounts, Snape was a medical miracle, given everything that appeared to be wrong with him. His metabolism alone was utterly weird; bizarre as it seemed, he was naturally thin and it had nothing to do with his diet. He didn't suffer from an eating disorder or a thyroid problem or anything like that; he simply never gained weight, particularly when stressed. Admittedly at the moment his weight was below normal even for him, but it wasn't as serious as it seemed it should be.

The chronic hepatitis turned out to have been caused by alcohol abuse in the past, and there wasn't much point in trying to heal it completely because he still occasionally drank far more than he should do. Not often, Madam Pomfrey and Dilys had assured her, but sometimes. It seemed there was a history of alcoholism in his family anyway, and given the kind of life he led it was understandable that he sometimes sought other methods of coping. Hermione had asked about the needle marks again and they had assured her that although he had been a user in the past, he had been clean for about ten years now; they didn't _think _he had started again, and he said he hadn't. He also had a history of self harm; not all his scars had been inflicted by other people, although they were pretty sure that had stopped now.

'Pretty sure' was the problem, really. It was impossible to get an accurate picture of Snape's medical history, for the simple reason that he refused to talk about it or admit to anything. He dealt with most of his injuries himself and mostly ignored the ones he couldn't handle alone until they eventually healed unaided. He turned out to be a fairly competent amateur healer, at least where wounds and curses were concerned, and knew enough about non-magical medicine to keep himself going. She already knew he controlled his diet himself; that had turned out to be at least partly because he had a stress-induced stomach ulcer and a half-healed second one – which probably went some way towards explaining his temper.

The scars and half-healed cuts and bruises were apparently near enough irrelevant. Snape's pain tolerance was utterly inhuman and he paid little attention to even quite serious wounds; he had so many scars because most of the time he actually couldn't be bothered to heal them, apparently, which probably indicated a few psychological issues even as it went some way towards explaining his general appearance.

It was his nervous system that was the real problem; continual exposure to the Cruciatus curse was slowly shredding his nerves. Hermione hadn't learned the more in-depth neural analysis charms yet, but Madam Pomfrey showed her the results of the last scan she had done on Snape and explained what it meant, and the Potions master was in constant pain all the time because he usually didn't have enough time to completely recover before being cursed again. His circulation was failing, too, taking his body temperature a degree or two below normal – she had noticed him shivering earlier.

All told, it wasn't really much of a surprise that Snape was always in such a foul mood, given the circumstances.

They had attempted to discuss the issue of sexual assault, as well, but with limited success; partly because the subject was so distressing, and partly because Madam Pomfrey and Dilys didn't really know much about it. Snape had never told them about it; the mediwitch had found out more or less by accident once when she had noticed that he was bleeding internally and had insisted on finding out the cause and he had been too weak to argue. They had no idea how frequently it happened, since he so seldom let Madam Pomfrey examine him; Hermione resigned herself to biting her lip every time she saw the man sit down for a while yet. Apparently Voldemort used sex both as a reward and a punishment, as if she needed another reason to hate him. They had told her that it was extremely rare, and assured her that the rumours and stories of Death Eater revels were almost all nonsense and exaggeration, but that was hardly much comfort.

Madam Pomfrey had taught Hermione a little about dealing with such cases, but added that it wouldn't do her any good in this situation because Snape didn't react the way most people did. If he felt the usual shame and guilt over it, he kept it inside, and although there was little doubt that he was traumatised by it, he kept that inside as well. That wasn't remotely healthy, but there was no way of forcing him to do anything else, and he obviously preferred them to leave the issue alone. Horrible as it was, the best thing they could do was to ignore it, because that was what he wanted and because there wasn't really anything they could do about it anyway.

That was the worst part, in Hermione's opinion. Everything she had seen wasn't going to get any better. It would all keep happening to him, over and over again, until either he died or Voldemort did. Sadly, the former was more likely to happen before the latter. It meant that Snape wasn't going to be able to heal. He'd have to keep enduring pain and injury that would have killed anyone else long before now, until it finally did kill him. By that point, frankly, he would probably welcome it.

_What's the point of being a Healer if you can't actually heal someone?_

She glanced very briefly at Snape's desk again, not letting her eyes linger for more than a second. He was still glaring at her and his expression didn't alter by a hair when he saw her looking at him; if anything, his dark eyes grew harder still. Hastily returning her gaze to her cauldron, Hermione wondered uneasily what was going to happen now.

Obviously something had to change; she liked Potions and wanted to do as well as possible in her OWL and she couldn't do that if she spent every single lesson on tenterhooks waiting for him to finally lose his temper and verbally eviscerate her. Equally, she couldn't do well in any other lesson if she spent every night alternately sobbing and brooding. She also wasn't going to be able to continue her training as a Healer if her main patient reacted with barely-restrained fury every time she found out something else about his medical state.

She supposed she could just wait and see whether things began to improve, but her temperament had never been suited to that. Besides, in addition to horror and pity, the situation had also aroused her curiosity. Her friends could all testify to how dangerous Hermione Granger could be when she had focused on something, and now she wanted to know not only _how _Snape managed to survive everything he was going through, but _why_. And that meant she needed to find out more about him.

_And then after that, I'll walk up to Voldemort and give him a big wet kiss, _she told herself dismally. She couldn't really have picked anything more dangerous.

Snape was going to kill her.

* * *

><p>Hermione struggled for a week to come up with a plausible plan that wouldn't result in her messy and violent death before finally admitting defeat. She spent too much time with Gryffindors, she acknowledged ruefully; there was no way she was capable of facing any Slytherin, let alone their Head of House, with any degree of subtlety. She needed an insight into how they saw the world; the problem was that none of her allies were Slytherins and all the Slytherins of her acquaintance utterly despised her.<p>

The idea came to her in the middle of the night, startling her out of a sound sleep with a sudden flash of inspiration. There _was _one Slytherin who might – just might – be disposed to help her; if she was careful and didn't try to do it all by herself, at least. No time like the present; she scrambled out of bed and found her dressing gown, padding silently out of the dormitory and down the stairs to the deserted common room and across to the portrait hole, promising herself that she would find a portrait for above her bed after this.

The Fat Lady wasn't pleased at being disturbed, but her indignation was cut short when Hermione politely asked her if she could pass on a message to the portrait of Dilys Derwent requesting a meeting. Less than ten minutes later, Hermione was sitting in an empty classroom not far from Gryffindor Tower looking at the portrait of the former Headmistress and Healer. "I want to meet Phineas Nigellus."

Dilys raised an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"You said he was one of Professor Snape's allies, that he was part of your group with you and Madam Pomfrey."

"Yes... but I told you that weeks ago. Why do you want to meet him _now?_"

"Because I think I need his help," Hermione admitted quietly. "He's the only person I can think of who might be able to help me understand Slytherins. None of the students will talk to me even if I wanted to risk it, and obviously I can't ask Professor Snape himself. What do you think?"

The elderly witch frowned. "You're right that he could help you. The question is whether he will or not. Phineas is very much a Slytherin; there is a reason you haven't met him already. He dislikes you for your birth. In addition, he does nothing without a very good reason; he will likely demand a price, and he is quite capable of telling Severus what you are trying to do on a whim out of sheer spite."

"I guessed that much," she replied with a shrug. "I don't think I have much choice, though. Either I risk the possibility of his telling on me, or I face the absolute certainty of my being discovered because I'm too much of a Gryffindor."

Dilys smiled ruefully. "You are the least overtly Gryffindorish of any of your year... but I admit that isn't really saying much. You're not much of a match for any Slytherin, and certainly not Severus. Very well; I will see what Phineas has to say. He will want to meet you in private, without me, to see what you're really made of, and he will be unpleasant."

"As bad as Professor Snape?" Hermione asked mischievously.

The portrait snorted softly. "Worse. Severus has manners; Phineas does not."

"Any advice?" _I never noticed that Snape had manners._

"Be honest. He has been around for a long time; he knows when he's being lied to. And try to keep your temper; don't let him see you as a silly little schoolgirl, or as an overly emotional Gryffindor. Good luck."

Dilys departed from the frame, and Hermione settled more comfortably on her chair, wishing irrelevantly that she had brought Crookshanks with her. It would be nice to have an ally in this, and certainly her familiar would be more likely to understand than any of her friends would.

A few minutes later a cultured male voice drawled haughtily, "What do you think you're doing, Mudblood?"

_Nice. _Turning, she regarded the portrait, who was giving her a look of withering disdain. Hermione had – naturally – done her research, and she knew that Phineas Nigellus Black was one of Sirius' ancestors; you wouldn't know it to look at him, though. "Good morning, sir," she replied as politely as possible. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

He sniffed. "Answer the question, girl."

"As I am sure Dilys explained," she began carefully, "I wanted your advice. I need some help to understand the general Slytherin mindset."

"Why?"

_Be honest, _Dilys had said. Hermione took a deep breath. "Lots of reasons, sir. Partly because of the war; many of the Death Eaters are Slytherins, and so is You-Know-Who. I'd like to understand a bit more about how they think, to see if I can work out why some of this is happening. I'd like to know a little more about my year mates, too. I see them every day and know nothing about them. But mostly, I admit, it's because of Professor Snape."

She paused for a moment to see if there was any reaction, but the lack of facial expression seemed to be a universal trait in adult Slytherins; Phineas might have been a frozen Muggle painting for all the emotion he showed. "Continue."

"I'm curious about him," she admitted. "He's always been the teacher I never connected to, the one I could never manage to impress. That's part of it. I want to know more about him. But I also want to help him, and unless I understand him enough I'll never get close enough to be able to. He's letting me help Madam Pomfrey with his Healing and so on, because he doesn't have much choice, but a blind man could see how much he hates it. Things will be easier for all of us if I can find an approach that he'll hate less."

The portrait was silent for a long time. Hermione did her best not to fidget and bit her tongue to stop herself badgering him. Finally the former Headmaster said nastily, "Arrogant little Mudblood, aren't you?"

"Please don't call me that, sir," she replied levelly.

"Does the truth bother you so much?"

"No, but it's a little hypocritical. My parents may be Muggles but at least they're not cousins; I'd rather be a Muggleborn than an inbred," she snapped. "My bloodline is probably cleaner than yours." There was no way to stop herself sounding angry, but she did manage not to shout at him.

To her surprise, the portrait snorted, looking almost amused. "Interesting." Annoyed, Hermione realised that he was playing with her, testing her. She was about to demand an answer – would he help her, or not? – but something made her bite her tongue; she needed his help more than she needed her pride right now.

Phineas tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied her. His expression indicated that he was looking at some rare and unusual insect trapped under glass, but he did seem to be thinking. "I will tell you a few things, girl, because I want to see what happens," he said at last. "It is very dull, being a portrait – you can't even begin to imagine how dull. This promises to be amusing, if nothing else. But I won't spoon-feed you. If you're as smart as Dilys claims, you should be able to work it out for yourself. If you're not..." He chuckled nastily. "If you're not, Severus will turn you inside out and leave you hanging out to dry. Either way, I'll enjoy watching. So pay attention, because I won't repeat myself, and don't interrupt."

Biting her tongue again, Hermione nodded slightly and sat forward, looking at him.

"First; every true Slytherin has more than one reason for _everything _we do. Equally, we see more than one motive behind everything everyone around us does. We take nothing for granted and we take nobody at face value."

She nodded slowly to show that she had heard him; she'd need time to think it over before she'd claim to understand, but she'd heard.

"Second; our society is focused entirely on rich purebloods. Severus is a poor half-blood. Keep that in mind."

Hermione thought about this; Phineas had paused, apparently to give her time to mull it over. Snape would always have been an outcast, then. To move in that world would have been a constant struggle. Making a mental note to review what she knew of his history and to try and find out more about pureblood traditional values when she got the chance, she nodded again.

"Third; no Slytherin finds it easy to trust anyone. We are taught to rely on ourselves, to use those around us, to look after our own interests. Severus had harsher lessons than most."

She nodded again. She knew enough of Snape's history to guess that he had some issues; Phineas was telling her to look deeper, to think more about it. He had been bullied terribly, almost beyond endurance, he'd almost certainly been abused by his parents, he had apparently lost his only close friend, he had been betrayed by the institution that was supposed to protect him, and he was routinely exposed to terrible abuse.

"That's enough for you to be going on with," Phineas told her crisply. "A bit of advice for your second step – your first was seeking my help, which is surprisingly intelligent for a Gryffindor. Don't go charging in. Don't try and push yourself into his life, don't try and force him to change his routine. Try and be at least vaguely subtle. He _will _suspect, don't think for a moment that he won't, but as long as you don't give him solid proof, he won't act. Reasonable doubt is your ally here. The main problem with Gryffindors is your emotions; everything you feel is painted across your faces for the world to see, and then you usually shout it to the world just in case they didn't notice. Don't try too hard."

This time her nod was a little rueful; she had realised years ago that part of the reason why Snape seemed to find her so annoying was that she tried too hard to impress him. He was the only teacher who had never seemed to value her intelligence, and the more harshly he criticised her, the harder she had tried to win the same regard from him that her other teachers showed her. Even when she had realised that it was the wrong approach, she'd kept trying because she didn't know any other way.

"One final point," Phineas told her. "You are supposedly quite intelligent. Use it. Think before you act, and learn to observe. You know everything you need already, but you haven't realised that you've seen it. Pay attention to what happens around you and learn to see beyond the surface. Analyse everything. Even tiny insignificant details are important."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me, girl. You're playing with fire and you're going to regret it." He paused. "You need to know a few things about Severus. Nobody is simple, and he is far more complicated than most. The first thing is loyalty. It defines much about him; he does not give much of himself easily or lightly, but when he does, it is eternal. He is as constant and as unchanging as the rotation of the earth. He will never break a promise and never turn his back on someone he considers worth his time. He is incapable of betrayal and he will never, ever forgive it."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but – he's a double agent. That makes him a traitor by definition, doesn't it?"

"At least you're asking, rather than making a statement," the portrait growled. "No. Riddle did that to himself. He took Severus' loyalty and broke it, and left him free to choose a different path. He is no traitor. The second thing you need to know is his sense of honour. That is not a typical Slytherin trait. I doubt you have ever realised, but Severus has never lied to any of you. He will withhold the truth, he will twist his words to lead people to make incorrect assumptions, but he never openly lies. Equally, there are lines he won't cross, things he won't do. Watch him when he interacts with your fellow students – he knows enough about all of you to reduce you all to broken wretches, but he won't go that far. There are things demanded of him as a Death Eater that he won't do, as well. He has a strict moral code, even if it is unconventional."

Hermione was tempted to argue that, but she suddenly found herself thinking of Neville, oddly enough. Snape had always disliked him, had always continually insulted and belittled him, but... well, what had happened to Neville's parents must be common knowledge among the older generation. If the goal had been to hurt Neville, then that was the best way to do it, but Snape had never mentioned them. He had made a few snide comments about Neville's grandmother, at least until the Boggart incident in third year, but he had never referred to Frank and Alice, directly or indirectly. And while he often made vicious comments about Harry's father, he hadn't mentioned his mother that she recalled, or referred to their deaths.

Phineas nodded, apparently able to tell that she was already thinking in different ways. Hermione had a feeling that this plan of hers was going to give her a lot of headaches. The portrait continued quietly, "The final thing you need to be aware of is pain. You cannot imagine everything that Severus has been through. Nobody can, because nobody knows all of it. People respond to pain in different ways; Severus withdraws from it. He has reached the point where he genuinely does not care about physical pain in any form; he has been through so much of it that it ceases to be relevant, which is why he is able to spend his own life so easily. However, that leaves him extremely vulnerable to other types of pain. He tries to isolate himself for his own protection but he cannot shield himself from everything. He is extremely emotionally damaged in ways nobody can understand, probably not even him, and he is alive and sane purely because he has so far managed to maintain a fragile balance. Be very careful, Miss Granger. A single mistake could have catastrophic consequences. Do you begin to understand now what you are trying to do?"

Hermione swallowed. "Probably not."

"Honest, at least. Foolish, but honest." He eyed her narrowly. "What will you do now?"

She thought about it. "Try and get some sleep. When I'm rested and calm, I'll do some thinking and decide what to do." Looking up, she offered the portrait a small smile. "No impulsive jumping in, I promise. I'm not always a total Gryffindor."

He snorted. "I'll believe it when I see it. And do bear in mind that the entire war may well be won or lost depending on Severus' mental balance and how long he can maintain it. Don't make it worse."

"No pressure, then?"

"Hah. Good luck, girl – you're going to need it."

* * *

><p><em>Ah, Phineas, ever the optimist... He does have a point, though. More action and less talk next time, honest.<em>**  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

_Last chapter was about as dark as it gets, you'll be relieved to know._**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>"I feel like no-one ever told the truth to me<br>About growing up and what a struggle it would be  
>In my tangled state of mind<br>I've been looking back to find  
>Where I went wrong..."<strong>  
>– Queen, 'Too Much Love Will Kill You'.<p>

* * *

><p>It took Hermione another two days, but the idea finally came to her during a History of Magic lesson – the source of some of her best ideas, actually, despite her being the only student who ever bothered to pay attention; her brain ticked over in the background even as she took notes. Madam Pomfrey had told her a possible solution during one of their first discussions about Snape's health: <em>'he goes running most mornings, I believe.' <em>

After dinner she found an empty room and asked one of the portraits to ask Phineas Nigellus to speak with her, then sat impatiently until the former Headmaster arrived. He gave her a lofty stare and enquired, "From the way you are bouncing in your chair, I take it you have thought of a way to approach your esteemed Professor? Do enlighten me."

"I want to ask you a couple of questions about his habits, actually."

"I told you, Granger, I'm not going to spoon-feed you."

"I'm not asking you to," she retorted. "I want to ask two questions. They both have very short answers. Then I'll leave you alone."

He sighed elaborately. "Fine."

"What time does he usually get up in the mornings?"

Phineas narrowed his eyes and almost seemed to smile. "Ah... I see. It varies, but it is usually hideously early; he is something of a natural insomniac even when he isn't at war, and obviously it is worse now. However, he generally leaves his rooms at around half past five, quarter to six."

_Ouch. _That was earlier than she had hoped, but it wasn't the end of the world; she'd just have to spend a little less time reading every night until she adjusted. "And how far does he usually travel before coming back to start his day?"

"I don't know," the portrait replied calmly, "since I can't see outside. I believe you will need to ask someone who spends more time in the grounds than I do."

_Hagrid. _Hermione grinned; the gamekeeper was away at the moment, but he wouldn't be gone forever. "Thank you for the advice."

"I advise you to get some practice first," he replied, giving her a rather insulting once-over. "He is usually out for around an hour." She made a face at him in response, but conceded the point. Battered and dented though he was, Snape was pretty fit, and if he spent that entire hour jogging she was definitely going to need some practice before she could hope to match him.

* * *

><p>Not long after Hermione's sixteenth birthday, she received further education on the cost of being a double agent, when she dragged herself yawning to the hospital wing in the middle of the night in answer to Dilys' call and found Madam Pomfrey and Snape apparently in the middle of an argument. "What's wrong this time?" she asked through another yawn.<p>

"Nothing, as I have been saying for the last twenty minutes," Snape growled in a rough voice, looking and sounding about as tired as she felt, although there was another edge to his tone that she didn't recognise.

"You're covered in blood, sir," she pointed out, slightly concerned despite herself. "That doesn't look like nothing."

After a long and somewhat uncomfortable pause, during which Dilys vanished from her frame and Madam Pomfrey fidgeted unnecessarily with her wand, Snape cleared his throat and said quietly, "It's not my blood."

Hermione stared at him blankly for a long moment before her brain woke up and she realised what was going on. Swallowing hard, she managed a faint, "...Oh," before faltering, unable to think of anything else to say.

Snape looked away, avoiding her gaze and staring at the floor, his face as emotionless as ever save for a faint tightening at the corners of his dark eyes. He flinched slightly when Madam Pomfrey took hold of his jaw once more and lifted his face, but made no protest as the nurse returned to gently cleaning away the red droplets that spattered his pale skin.

Swallowing again, Hermione looked away, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering with the sudden chill that seemed to have settled over her. She couldn't bring herself to look at him again, restlessly pacing around the Infirmary as the mediwitch finished examining him and dismissed him for the night with a gentle admonishment to be careful; she heard Snape's footsteps pass close by her, and he paused for a moment before sighing almost inaudibly and walking past her to the door. Only when it had closed behind him did she turn around again.

Madam Pomfrey looked at her steadily. "This is another side of the reality of life as a double agent," she said quietly. "You know the sorts of activities that the Death Eaters practice. Professor Snape must participate in things that he would sooner not do in order to maintain his cover."

"He killed someone tonight," she said thickly, startled by the roughness of her voice.

"Probably," the nurse agreed softly. "I don't intend to ask. If it was important strategically he will inform the Headmaster, but if not he would prefer to keep silent."

"I'm not surprised," she muttered. Oh, everyone made jokes about Snape, about how he frequently murdered students and harvested their organs for Potions ingredients and about how he had fond daydreams of slaughtering them all in gruesome ways, but... he really was a murderer. She shivered again. "Why was he up here? He didn't look hurt."

"He wasn't. Hell will freeze over before he'd ever admit it, but sometimes he does want company. His excuse tonight was to check on my Potions stores, I think, but I don't bother listening any more. He wanted to see me – not me specifically, but someone who knows what's going on and doesn't judge him."

"How can you act as if it's normal?" she asked in a small voice.

"What else would you have me do, Miss Granger? I don't know who it was. I couldn't have done anything about it if I did. Their death will have been quicker and cleaner than it would have been had another Death Eater been the one to kill them. Thousands of innocents die during wars; the only way to stop it is to work to end the war as quickly as possible, which we are doing. My having hysterics certainly won't help Severus cope. He feels like enough of a monster already without my treating him like one."

Remembering his dark eyes, Hermione shook her head. "He doesn't feel anything."

"Yes, he does," the nurse said very softly, meeting her eyes. "He doesn't show it, it's true, but somewhere deep inside, the things he has to do hurt him in ways I don't think anyone can understand. Professor Snape is a human being, Hermione, with human emotions and feelings. He has a conscience, a heart and a soul, and a very clear concept of right and wrong. However much he tries to pretend otherwise, he is strongly affected by the life he has to lead. Whatever else he may be, he is only human, just as you are. Try to remember that."

* * *

><p>It was hardly unusual to find Hermione in the library during a moment of free time, of course, but on this occasion she wasn't here for homework or for her own amusement; she had a different mission in mind. Resisting the urge to look around furtively, she crossed the floor as calmly and casually as possible to the shelves that held old Hogwarts yearbooks, some dating back centuries, and ran her fingers lightly over the spines of the massed volumes as she moved to the slightly more recent ones and took down the book for the graduates of 1978.<p>

Really, she supposed as she settled at a table some way from the door or the other students working nearby, it was odd that she and the boys had never looked at this before. After all, Harry's parents were in here, and Sirius and Lupin. Delaying the real reason why she was looking at it now, she turned to the beginning and looked for them first.

Sirius grinned insolently out of his photo, handsome and almost laughing, reminding her briefly that she had actually sort of fancied him during her stay at Headquarters the previous summer. Even knowing some of his relatives, she couldn't really see anything familiar in his features, although admittedly Phineas was several generations removed and she hadn't seen any of the others personally except for Tonks, who could look like anything she chose. The young Gryffindor looked happy and carefree and clearly had the rest of his life before him; every inch the ideal Hogwarts graduate, in fact.

Lily Evans was the next familiar name she found, and Hermione suddenly felt as though she had been punched in the stomach, barely managing to hold back a gasp of shock. _Evans. _No wonder the name had sounded familiar! _Snape_ had been friends with _Harry's mum_? "Christ," she whispered faintly, swallowing. "No wonder nobody wanted to tell me." It didn't make sense, though. Why on earth would Snape have been friends with a Muggleborn Gryffindor girl? _Oh God. What would Harry say if he knew? _Well, she certainly had no intention of ever telling her friend. He and Snape loathed one another quite enough as it was – and maybe this was part of the reason why. Maybe it was tied up with why Snape had hated James.

It was all too much to think about now, and she did her best to put it out of her mind as she looked at the pretty redhead smiling shyly out of the picture at her with the Head Girl's badge gleaming on her robe. Harry really did have his mother's eyes, she saw; the vibrant green was even more startling when matched with pale skin and bright auburn hair. Lily too looked like a model student, pretty and popular and happy. Trying to imagine her being friends with _Snape_, even though the friendship had apparently ended some time before these photos were taken, just made her head hurt.

She leafed slowly through the photos of smiling, happy students. The next name she recognised was Remus Lupin, and she smiled a little to see the teenage werewolf grinning a bit lopsidedly at her. She could see in his face the shadow of the man he would become, in a way she hadn't been able to see with Sirius, and he didn't seem as worn or as haunted as he would later. He lacked his friend's good looks, but he looked almost cute, in a way that reminded her a little of Neville, the same sort of earnest nerdiness that was oddly endearing.

Peter Pettigrew's photo reflexively made her shiver a little, but the boy grinning out of the picture at her bore little resemblance to the adult Wormtail. He was chubby and his features looked somehow unfinished, as though he was younger than he was and hadn't finished developing yet, although there was a certain rodent-like cast to his nose and mouth already. He certainly didn't look like the sort of boy who would sell his best friends to Voldemort just a few years later, just an excitable youth who wasn't quite sure of himself.

By contrast, James Potter looked very certain of himself, lounging casually against the edge of his photo. His resemblance to Harry was startling, from messy hair to easy smile, although he possessed a strong air of self-confidence and an assurance that his son lacked. Harry always seemed slightly diffident, and James clearly didn't. Then again, given that he was posing with the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup and had the Head Boy's badge pinned to his robes and had been dating someone who looked like Lily Evans, she supposed it was hardly surprising that he should look so confident and pleased with life.

Slowly, she turned another couple of pages, and her eye finally caught the name she had originally been looking for; _Severus Snape. _He stared sullenly out of the photograph at her, looking very much as he did now despite his youth; the too-thin features showing the high cheekbones too clearly, the long dirty hair partially hiding his face – cut rather more raggedly here than it was now; evidently he had still been learning how to cut it himself – and the oversized hooked nose that looked even more out of place on a teenager. He looked less gaunt, less tired and haggard, but his skin still held that sallow and not very healthy tone and his uniform looked shabby and worn. But his eyes...

Hermione leaned closer to the picture after a hasty glance around to make sure nobody was watching her table, trying to make out the shadows in his dark gaze. It was very hard to see; this photo was seventeen years old, after all, and not very big. Snape, unlike every other student in the book, did not look happy or excited by his future; he looked largely emotionless, actually, although it wasn't the established blankness of a practiced Occlumens yet, but there was definitely something else in his eyes – a sense of age, she realised, eyes that had seen too much for his age already. Something in the resentful twist of his thin lips suggested anger, certainly, and she could clearly see the echo of the adult Snape's all too familiar malicious sneer; that bitterness was reflected in his eyes, but his expression seemed bleaker, almost resigned. Overall, his attitude suggested that he too had his future stretched out before him and he wasn't looking forward to it. He certainly looked like a Death Eater in the making, but it didn't look like he really wanted it. He looked rather lost, the way he hunched his shoulders and held his head so his hair hung over his face seeming strangely vulnerable.

She bit her lip to stop herself snorting aloud. _Don't be stupid. It's just an old photo. Stop projecting. He couldn't possibly have known what would happen in the future. _Rolling her eyes at herself, she moved on, past the last few students and into the rest of the yearbook.

Despite herself, she studied the OWL and NEWT grades for each student, wondering how her own marks were going to compare. Lily and Remus had both done very well, all O's and E's, and James and Sirius weren't far behind, but Peter had clearly lacked his friends' brains and his results were mostly A's. Snape's results made her stare; he'd got Outstandings in every single subject. She knew he was intelligent, but surely few students ever managed to achieve that – although admittedly part of her certainly hoped to do just that.

Most of the rest of the book was filled with more candid photos of the students from various points in their school careers; her instant favourite was a shot of the Marauders in about third or fourth year, playfully wrestling for position on a table as they posed and grinned at the camera. There was a lovely shot of James and Lily with their Head Boy and Girl badges, too, smiling at each other, and one of Sirius aged about fifteen brandishing the Quidditch Cup over his head rather dangerously in one hand as he attempted to get a sheepish-looking Remus in a headlock with the other arm, and Lily aged perhaps twelve with a couple of other girls in Gryffindor scarves cheering from the Quidditch stands...

Flicking through the pages of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students that she didn't know, Hermione frowned. There were a few shots of Slytherin students wearing their green and silver ties, but Snape wasn't in any of them. She eventually found him lurking in the background of another group shot; scanning the names underneath, she shivered to realise that all these proud and happy boys had gone on to become Death Eaters, and looked away to focus on Snape. He had his hands shoved into his pockets and was scowling, clearly not wanting to be in the picture, skulking off to one side rather than being part of the group. As far as she could see, it was the only other photograph of him in the whole book.

Pensively, Hermione closed the yearbook and replaced it on the shelf. She wasn't sure that this bit of research had been very enlightening, but it had given her a few more things to think about.

* * *

><p>Severus was <em>not <em>pleased to find Umbridge waiting in his classroom when he arrived to remove the stasis charms protecting the fifth-years' half-completed Strengthening Solutions and organise the needed ingredients and equipment for the next stage. She had warned him that he was due for inspection this week, and some part of him had known that of course it would be this particular class, but he was still deeply annoyed. His results spoke for themselves; Hogwarts' Potions grades were higher than any other wizarding institute, one reason why he was allowed to get away with behaving as he did. Bastard or not, somewhat to his own surprise he was a good teacher, if not a liked one. And his list of academic credentials was about as long as his forearm by now. This ludicrous notion of _inspections _was an insult.

Ignoring her as much as possible, he began setting up the classroom, recalling Minerva's description of her own inspection with a suppressed smirk. How he would love to give himself free rein here... he wagered he could have her stammering and blushing like a first year by the end of the lesson. But no, he had to behave himself. Up to a point, at least.

She was standing directly behind him to watch what he was doing; Severus almost snorted. He was a master of intimidation and used such techniques himself; they wouldn't work on him. Besides, he might be thin as a rail and not quite six feet tall but he was still a lot taller than the toad and it wasn't difficult to move just enough to completely block her view, suppressing another smirk as he heard her breathing change with frustration. Idiot woman.

"Are you prepared for inspection, Severus?" she asked finally, and he mentally awarded himself the first point for making her speak first, although he did wish she wouldn't use his first name. If he had his way, nobody would use it; he didn't consider anyone a close enough friend to be granted the privilege, frankly. Certainly not Dolores sodding Umbridge, Fudge's pet toad.

Turning, he raised an eyebrow. "Surely preparing to do something unusual would negate the purpose of inspection?" he replied silkily. "I have more confidence in my teaching methods than that." Besides, she would probably enjoy his usual teaching demeanour, gruesome though the thought was. He paced to a dim corner of the classroom. "You should be able to observe adequately from here," he told her, drawing his wand to conjure a chair for her before she could. In another man, that might be taken as a polite gesture; Severus gleefully created the most uncomfortable seat he could envisage, hard and unyielding, narrow enough to make it difficult to settle on and just high enough to be inconvenient for the toad's short legs. _Second point to me. _He gave her what passed for a polite smile and gestured for her to be seated. "The students should be outside now."

"You make them wait on you?" she asked, settling down with her bloody stupid clipboard and writing his name on the top of the sheet of pink parchment. Pink parchment... he suppressed a shudder of distaste. Vile woman. She had worse taste than he did.

"I make them wait in the corridor so that if I am delayed for any reason, they are not tempted to play with anything without supervision. It's a safety measure."

Turning away, he stalked towards the door and immediately heard the raised voices outside. _What the hell are you lot doing this time? _Sighing, he opened the door and wasn't remotely surprised to see Potter and Weasley struggling and Draco smirking. It was odd to see Longbottom in the middle of it, but he didn't have the time or the inclination to be curious and took ten points from Gryffindor before ordering them inside.

Following the last student in, he closed the door loudly enough to cut off the whispers and walked past the Trio's usual table to the front of the classroom. "You will notice that we have a guest today," he drawled; not for the first time, he was thankful for his voice. Not only was it the only remotely positive feature he possessed, it meant that he could sound contemptuous and sneering without actually having to sneer and could therefore claim innocence if accused of mocking someone.

The students all exchanged glances, and you didn't need to be a Legilimens to spot what they were thinking. His lip curled, and he himself wasn't sure if it was a sneer or a smile; with a teacher like the toad, he was no longer the most hated staff member, which was quite a peculiar feeling. He'd felt a shadow of it with Lockhart, but most of the girls had fancied the prick, which had let him keep some scraps of popularity. Raising his voice fractionally, Severus continued, "We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend – instructions –" Drawing his wand, he flicked it at the blackboard "– on the board. Carry on."

The first part of the lesson passed relatively painlessly. It was a horrific thought, but for some reason Umbridge actually seemed to like him, much to Minerva's somewhat malicious joy over the past couple of weeks. Severus knew he partly had Lucius to blame for that. He wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that his so-called friend had been singing his praises deliberately; Malfoy Senior had a very twisted sense of humour at times, which would obviously require appropriate retribution at a later date. Still, he didn't expect it to last; Fudge had seen his Dark Mark last year, after all.

He was examining Thomas' potion when he heard footsteps, and glared into the boy's cauldron irritably; _here we go. _Her footsteps weren't quite even; he hoped she had pins and needles. Dean Thomas was one of the average Potions students; his potion was correct, but uninspired. There were no real flaws, but it wasn't particularly high quality. He tried to concentrate on the potion as that annoying breathy voice addressed him.

"Well, the class seem fairly advanced for their level," she told him, and he sneered at the cauldron in front of him. They should be, with a ridiculously overqualified teacher. He saw no point in coddling them along with Boil-Cure Potion forever, and this _was _the OWL class, after all. Umbridge continued, "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus."

_It's not the same thing as Strength Potion, you incompetent hag. _He straightened up, barely able to stop himself rolling his eyes. If he had to endure inspection, why couldn't it have been performed by someone who actually knew the subject? Strength Potion increased the drinker's physical and magical strength temporarily, but Strengthening Solution didn't. It was harmless enough, used mainly to increase the strength of enchantments laid on objects and sometimes used to boost the efficacy of certain other potions. Turning away from the bench and letting Thomas get on with his work, he regarded her impassively as she picked up her quill from the edge of her clipboard.

"Now... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked.

"Fourteen years." Which was on record, had she bothered to look at the records. Idiot. Toad.

"You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" she asked in a poisonously sweet voice.

_Ah. So that's where this is going. _"Yes," he replied quietly.

"But you were unsuccessful?"

Thomas stifled a laugh; clearly, as many students as possible were eavesdropping, and he knew who would be among them. Severus changed tactics and stopped Occluding, curling his lip; might as well go for broke and enjoy himself making her look stupid, even if he paid for it later. "Obviously," he replied witheringly, and heard another stifled laugh somewhere behind him that sounded like it might even have been Granger.

The toad started writing briskly; he glanced down long enough to read her stupidly elaborate loopy handwriting upside down and wasn't surprised to see that she was writing gibberish, just trying to look like she was making lots of notes based on his four-syllable answer.

"And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes," he said curtly. This had already stopped being fun. He really did hate being publicly humiliated in any way, even though this was very minor compared to some of the things he had endured. Swallowing bile and trying to keep calm, he waited for the inevitable next question.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" she asked sweetly.

Oh, there were lots of reasons. Partly because the old man wasn't stupid and knew he'd never find another Potions teacher with Severus' qualifications, partly out of spite. A significant part of the reason was that he simply didn't trust Severus not to snap and start teaching the children true Dark magic. But mostly, it was because the job was cursed, and neither of them could afford for Severus to leave after a year. He needed to be here so he could lie to the Dark Lord, and so Dumbledore could keep an eye on him. None of which were acceptable reasons to tell Umbridge.

That didn't stop him from applying, which also had a lot of reasons. So he could show the Dark Lord that he was still trying to obey the initial order he had been given, mainly. It also irritated Dumbledore, which was always worth doing, and gave him an excuse to be nasty to whoever did land the job – most of them deserved it anyway – and it helped people to underestimate him. He also did genuinely like the subject and would quite enjoy teaching it for a little while, even though Potions was his true love, and now that war had come again he knew he could teach the brats more about defending themselves than anyone else Dumbledore managed to coerce into the job. _Especially Umbridge._

Trying not to grit his teeth, he replied shortly, "I suggest you ask him."

"Oh, I shall," she told him, and smiled – the sweet, girly expression that he hated on general principles that did unfortunate things to her pouchy, puffy features and made her look even more vile and toad-like.

Trying not to imagine the kind of things he could do to her, he asked grimly, "I suppose this is relevant?" Of course it wasn't relevant. His abilities as a Potions teacher had nothing to do with his wanting a different job.

"Oh yes," she assured him, "yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' – er – backgrounds."

_I'll take you with me next time I'm Summoned, _he thought viciously. _You'd get a very thorough understanding then. _The Ministry had always wanted another go at him ever since Dumbledore's intervention had cleared him of prosecution at his trial; it must be very frustrating to Fudge, knowing that he was a Death Eater and yet not being able to do a damned thing about it. He glared at her back as she walked over to Parkinson and started asking about the lessons; at least he'd pass his stupid inspection, and with flying colours if she was talking to the Slytherins – they knew which side their bread was buttered.

Turning away, he caught Potter's gaze. The boy wasn't even trying to hide his eavesdropping, and his temper snapped as he stalked over to stare at the absolute mess in the cauldron. Clearly, Potter had been so busy watching his enemies fencing that he hadn't even tried to pay attention to his work. As Potter looked down, Severus glanced briefly at Granger, who had turned slightly to put her back to them and was obviously making it clear that she had given up trying to help him rescue the mess. She was probably still trying to help Longbottom, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment; he didn't want to deal with another melted cauldron today anyway.

"No marks again, then, Potter," he told the boy spitefully. On this occasion, it was justified; the brat's potion was genuinely the worst in the class, as he Vanished the congealing sludge from the cauldron. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?"

"Yes," the boy hissed resentfully. _Idiot. This potion is on your OWL. You haven't learned how to make it in class so you'll have to do it on your own time. I'm not just being a bastard or I'd simply have given you to Filch to play with for an evening; it's not as if I want any more marking to do._

Rolling his eyes, he stalked off to see how badly Crabbe and Goyle had managed to mess up this time, gritting his teeth and stopping himself from glaring at Umbridge's back. Infuriatingly, she had won this round.

* * *

><p>By the time he stormed into the almost deserted staff room that evening, he was still in a bad mood. Minerva looked up as he thumped into a chair opposite her and smiled slightly. "Well, someone's obviously just had their first inspection at last," she told him, sounding unnecessarily cheerful in his opinion. "Did you enjoy yourself?"<p>

"No," he replied shortly as she reached down beside her chair and produced her chessboard, raising an eyebrow at him inquiringly. He nodded and she started to set up the pieces. "Of course it had to be the fifth years. Is she stalking Potter or something?"

"Probably," she agreed. "Most of the reason she's here at all is to watch him, after all. Did you get to play with her?"

"Disappointingly, no," he told her. "She got in a few jabs about Defence and then spent the rest of the lesson interviewing the students."

"Bad luck," she told him sympathetically, "but you'll have at least one other chance. I'm expecting something good, Severus; you and I have a duty to make her squirm at every opportunity." She nudged her first pawn forward and they settled to the game.

"Where is everyone?" he asked a few minutes later.

"Aurora, Charity and Rolanda have gone to the Three Broomsticks, Filius and Bathsheda are on patrol this evening, Pomona's in her greenhouse as usual, Septima is in her office working, and _she _is with Albus. Hopefully being told off."

"Why, what's she done now?" he asked, smirking a little as he took Minerva's bishop.

Giving him an irritated look and taking one of his pawns in revenge, she replied quietly, "Sybill's been put on probation."

"Well, that's hardly a surprise," he noted. He was one of only a small handful of people who knew that Sybill Trelawney was a genuine Seer, but that didn't stop her being a hopeless old fraud the rest of the time. "Maybe this means we can finally scrap the whole damned subject. I hope you've told the house-elves to hide the cooking sherry."

"You're in no position to comment on anyone else's drinking habits, Severus," she scolded him, hastily rescuing one of her knights. "She hasn't taken it well. She was crying earlier. Please be nice to her."

He moved his queen. "I never speak to her. For me, that is nice."

"True, I suppose. And technically, the Ministry's decree allows her to inspect us and put us on probation, but I don't recall it stating that she can fire us..."

"It doesn't say that she can't, either," he pointed out gloomily. "We'll have no help there. They've got too many people on the alert for loopholes. Check."

Moving her king out of danger, she nodded. "Albus was prepared for this, anyway. You'll enjoy his plan if Sybill does end up getting the sack."

"You do enjoy being cryptic, don't you," he commented mildly, sacrificing a knight and studying the board through half-closed eyes.

"Pot, kettle, black, Severus," she chided him. "My point is, we can limit her damage among the staff, but the students are getting out of hand already."

"That's what they do," he pointed out. "Check, again."

Looking annoyed, she rescued her king again, and he smirked at her. She sighed. "Disbanding student groups and clubs this morning was a very bad idea, especially with the Quidditch season about to start. Potter's not our only young rebel. She's been carping about at least one student in every single class..."

"Mostly Gryffindors," he told her slyly.

"Because your Slytherins are being disgusting little lickspittles," she pointed out, taking another pawn.

"Disgusting little lickspittles who are well ahead on House points," he replied calmly. He didn't like his students' attitudes either, but the House of the Snake was full of survivors. _They _weren't getting detention constantly. He took Minerva's second bishop and she retaliated by taking one of his castles.

"It's only a matter of time before something serious happens, Severus. I'm worried about Potter."

"My money's on the Weasley twins, actually." He moved his remaining knight out of danger. "Have you seen their little sweets in action yet? I'm looking forward to those being rolled out." Not for the first time, he wondered in some amusement how the students would react if they found out how much their teachers gossiped and how few secrets they really had.

"You won't have any Potions students left. I'm sure you don't have a problem with that, but it will affect your salary." She took another pawn.

He snorted. "Hardly. They hate her far more than they hate me. I may treat them all like idiots, but I don't patronise them and pretend that I'm not, and I'm not preventing them from learning or lying to them."

"Jokes aside, Severus, this is getting serious. You and I both know that the staff only have the illusion of control at best. If she pushes them to open rebellion..."

Moving his queen clear across the board, Severus smirked a little. The Trio's attempt to start their little defence club was already public knowledge now, even if they thought they had been so stealthy about it; he was quite proud of his role in that. "With fellow rebels around him, Potter will be less of a problem than if he were the only one; he's relatively calm at the moment, because he thinks he's being clever. I still say your twins will act first."

Watching the board through narrowed eyes, she nodded. "Care to wager?"

"Ten Galleons," he said without hesitation.

Minerva blinked at him, then nodded with fierce pride and took another pawn. "You're on." They shook on it and returned to the game. "I'm still worried about the boy..."

"You've said that twice now. He'll be fine; he always is."

"She intercepted his owl the other day."

"What?"

They exchanged grim looks. "There wasn't anything risky in whatever letter he was sending; he at least has that much sense. But she's getting braver. We're barely into October; what will she work her way up to by Christmas?"

"We'll have to see that her courage takes a battering, then, won't we," he murmured. "Check."

"Damn," she muttered before she could stop herself, moving her king hastily and glaring at him. "Albus has already told you not to poison her."

"I'm not going to. At least not yet." He let her take his second castle. "If you're that bothered about the students, let's get her focusing her attention elsewhere for a while. The best strategy with the Ministry is always to play on their paranoia. Get her preoccupied about herself and her possessions and she'll stop paying so much attention to the rest of the castle."

"It's at times like these that I'm glad you're no longer a student, Severus. You would be a complete nightmare."

"You say the sweetest things," he told her sarcastically, smirking again.

"How much time are you going to have to spare to help out?"

"As much as I need," he assured her. "She's unpopular with both sides, you know. She's trying to destroy Hogwarts, and nobody wants that. Who else wants to be involved?"

"Filius, obviously. Perhaps Pomona, although there isn't much she can do at the moment. I'm sure everyone else will help as needed."

Severus smiled as an idea occurred to him, sacrificing another pawn. "Let's make it interesting, shall we?"

"Go on. You're in check, by the way."

Unsurprised, he moved his king. "Start a pool. Everyone contributes a little every week. At the end of the year, we take a vote on who managed to hinder her the most; winner takes all."

They exchanged happily malicious looks. "I'm in," Minerva agreed. "There will have to be conditions, of course. No unfair advantages, and nothing dangerous, and no getting the students involved."

"Sounds fair. And we don't tell Dumbledore."

"What he doesn't have proof of, he can't do anything about," she agreed; neither of them were daft enough to think that he wouldn't know what they were up to.

"Splendid. Checkmate."

She looked at the board and sighed as her king surrendered with a disgusted expression. "I almost had you that time. You've got almost no pieces left."

"I'm not a better chess player than you are. I'm just better at reading you than you are at reading me."

"The queen was a feint?"

"Yes."

"Hmph. All right, then, I'll speak to the others as and when I can. You and I are on patrol together next Thursday, I believe; we'll see what happens between now and then."

* * *

><p>It seemed to take forever before the twins and their audience left the common room. Hermione had given up trying to argue now; Ron and Harry were too impressed to listen, and she didn't want to admit that part of her was grudgingly impressed as well. Under different circumstances she would have been more horrified by sweets that let students get out of classes, but... well, Umbridge was a special case. If she didn't so desperately want to keep track of what the foul woman was doing and to try and keep Harry under control, she might be tempted to skip Defence lessons too.<p>

Finally the common room was blessedly silent and empty. Hermione was somewhat dismayed to see that it was gone midnight already; it was all right for the boys, they weren't going to be up at half past five, trying to adjust to an early routine before she could put her plan into action after Hagrid returned. At least Snape hadn't been Summoned tonight, so she wasn't going to be called to the hospital wing, but she was still going to be exhausted tomorrow.

"Sirius," Ron said at last, waking up, and she put her homework to one side as her friend's godfather grinned at them from the fireplace.

"Hi."

"Hi," she replied with the others, kneeling on the rug beside Crookshanks.

"How're things?"

"Not that good," Harry said, as she hastily pulled her cat away from the fire. "The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams –"

"Or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?" Sirius asked archly, and they all stared at him. Hermione had no idea what the boys were feeling, but she mostly felt embarrassed; they'd been so careful!

"How did you know about that?" Harry demanded.

"You want to choose your meeting places more carefully," Sirius replied, grinning. "The Hog's Head, I ask you."

He sounded so mocking that Hermione bristled. "Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks," she protested. "That's always packed with people –"

"Which means you'd have been harder to overhear," Sirius said dismissively. "You've got a lot to learn, Hermione," he added.

He probably hadn't meant it to sound so patronising, but it still annoyed her, mostly because she knew it was true. The things she _didn't _know kept her awake and worrying at night, after all. She had tried to keep their group private, but obviously she'd made a bit of a mess of it; she was no Slytherin, she already knew that. No wonder Professor Snape had seemed amused about something over the past few days... after all, it had been partly something he'd said that had inspired her to suggest this in the first place.

Thinking of Snape drew her eyes back to Sirius as he talked about Mundungus Fletcher, and a sudden cold weight settled in her stomach as she remembered that this man cheerfully grinning and talking about rebellion had been capable of attempted murder when he was their age, and had been a bully long before that. It was a strange feeling... she _liked _Sirius, and certainly Snape had always given back as good as he'd received when she'd seen them interacting, but the facts were undeniable. A prank would have been to send Snape under the tree on any other night, and maybe close the passage behind him or have something waiting for him. Making sure it happened on the full moon, with a werewolf at the other end, was no mere joke. Sirius had wanted Snape dead.

And while Snape could easily hold his own against Sirius now they were grown – verbally, at least, and she'd bet on him in a duel as well, although maybe not in a physical fight – she doubted that had been true when they were boys. Apart from anything else, it had never been one on one, as far as she knew. One against four was a very long way from a fair fight; it was bullying, plain and simple, and with the best will in the world she couldn't come up with any justification. Snape wasn't stupid and never had been, and he would never have started such an unbalanced fight that he couldn't possibly hope to win.

Hermione felt a little sad, realising again that she was growing up and finding that the world wasn't the place she had thought it was. She had always liked Sirius, always been on his side, but now she found herself remembering the savage and almost unbalanced rage Snape had shown two years ago in a different light. You didn't get that kind of anger without a hell of a lot of pain to fuel it. It was harder to choose sides once you knew the full story, especially since she knew what it felt like to be picked on. So did Harry, come to that, but he was still blind to everything about Snape except his nastiness, the way she had been until recently.

Pushing her troubled thoughts away for the moment, Hermione listened as Sirius explained the warning from Mrs Weasley, a little embarrassed to find that it sounded very much like the bossy twelve year old she used to be. That was one positive about growing up, she supposed; her own priorities had shifted. The boys could joke about it as much as they liked; Ron might be a blood traitor but he was still a pureblood, and Harry had the whole Order to protect him, but Hermione was a Mudblood and a target, and she wanted to be able to protect herself, because not many people were going to be doing it for her.

"So you want me to say I'm not going to take part in the Defence group?" Ron said sullenly.

"Me? Certainly not!" Sirius replied, looking surprisingly shocked at the notion. "I think it's an excellent idea!"

Frowning at his tone, Hermione looked back at the fire thoughtfully as Harry said happily, "You do?"

"Of course I do! D'you think your father and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?"

_No, _Hermione thought darkly. _You'd have been like Harry, defiant and angry and... stupid, and you'd have ended up in endless detentions as well. _For a moment her inner monologue spoke in Snape's voice, about arrogant overemotional impulsive reckless Gryffindors.

Harry seemed to have picked up on something in his godfather's voice too, as he gave the fire a puzzled look. "But – last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks –"

"Last year, all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!" Sirius said impatiently. "This year, we know there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!"

_You've always been good at justifying things, _Hermione's inner Snape said darkly. Wanting to feel ashamed of her suspicions, Hermione asked quietly, "And if we do get expelled?" Sirius wasn't a thrill-seeking teenage rebel any more. He was Harry's guardian, and an adult in a position of responsibility.

"Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!" Harry protested.

_It was Professor Snape's idea, actually. _And she still didn't know if that throwaway comment had been pure chance or if he'd meant to send her mind off at the tangent that had led to this, if it had been coincidence or deliberate manipulation. "I know it was," she replied with a shrug. "I just wondered what Sirius thought." She knew what he thought; she wanted to know what he would say.

"Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue," Sirius replied now, and his casual tone answered her question. Her heart sank as Harry and Ron chorused eager agreement before the three of them began to discuss possible meeting places, and she wondered uneasily how long she could let things be before she had to tell Harry her suspicions.

* * *

><p><em>A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, Hermione.<em>**  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

_The pace is picking up a little bit now..._**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>"Many are stubborn in pursuit of the path they have chosen, few in pursuit of the goal."<strong>  
>– Friedrich Nietzsche.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione hadn't slept well that night; hardly surprising, given how close they had come to being caught by Umbridge. In hindsight, it had been a stupid thing to do, which was only adding to her nagging and confused thoughts about her friend's godfather; what they were doing was dangerous, and he should be encouraging them to be careful, helping them to think things through properly, not simply blindly egging them on. She didn't much like thinking like this, part of her still wanting to be the little girl who had complete faith in the adults around her to do what was best. Growing up wasn't much fun, really.<p>

Seeing Snape at breakfast that morning didn't help; she'd been trying to forget the reminder of what Sirius had done for half the night. Every time she glanced up at him she felt almost guilty, which made no sense; she hadn't been part of any bullying, and while admittedly she had assaulted him a couple of times, it had been completely justified at the time and never meant maliciously. She'd never even called him any of the nasty names that the rest of the school gave him – occasionally thinking of him as a bastard didn't count, since he was one – and she'd even tried not to laugh at the Boggart incident. So why was she feeling guilty about things that had happened long before she was born?

_Maybe because the people who were involved _don't_ feel guilty, _she realised slowly; thinking of the Boggart incident had reminded her that she'd felt a bit uncomfortable about it at the time. It wasn't exactly professional to encourage a class to laugh at another teacher, and it had seemed unlike Professor Lupin to do so. The whole school had been mocking Snape for that; Hermione was ashamed to realise now that this was the first time she'd paused to wonder how he must have felt about it. She'd always felt it was wrong to disrespect a teacher, but she'd never stopped to think that maybe it might have hurt his feelings.

And certainly Sirius had never seemed to care. She glanced along the staff table at her Potions teacher again, remembering how Harry and Ron had laughed over learning the nickname _Snivellus; _she knew about bullies and she knew there was no pain in the world that was quite like a childhood nickname meant maliciously. Clearly the surviving Marauders felt no guilt about their actions, always shrugging off any mention of their feud, and Dumbledore too had told Snape to get over it, as though he wasn't allowed to be angry – in fact, now that she thought of it, Dumbledore had joined in the joke over the Boggart; Harry and Ron had told her about the hat in the Christmas cracker. That was hardly fair either.

Her whole view of the world was being turned upside down. She'd only known Snape's true role for a couple of months; it was barely October, and yet suddenly she was seeing everything differently, just because she had suddenly realised that her Potions master was a human being and that things weren't what they seemed. It was a strangely lonely feeling, because she knew that her friends were still young enough not to see it.

* * *

><p>Talking about how far Umbridge was willing to go in Charms later, she had intended to raise the subject, but her courage had failed her. Annoyed with her own weakness, she made up her mind to discuss it over break, and gathered her thoughts as best she could while the boys were celebrating the Quidditch team being reformed – they really were young still, she realised with a slightly sad smile. As if Quidditch was important when the world was going to hell.<p>

"What's up with you, Hermione?" Ron asked, rousing her from her thoughts as she watched the rain running down the window.

"Just thinking..."

"About Siri – Snuffles?" Harry asked, and she steeled herself.

"No... not exactly... More... wondering... I suppose we're doing the right thing... I think... aren't we?" God, it was all so confusing. Inspiration or not, this had been her idea, and it made her feel responsible if something went wrong and they got caught. In an ideal world she would be able to talk it over with an adult, but the only realistic option was Snape himself, and he confused her and she was still rather intimidated by him and she was sure that he disliked her, as she sort of still disliked him after a fashion; she certainly couldn't see herself sitting down with him for a chat. Besides, she doubted he would be able to speak impartially about Sirius or Harry.

"Well, that clears that up," Ron said sarcastically. "It would've been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly."

_Oh ha bloody ha, Ron. _"I was just wondering whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defence Against the Dark Arts group," she said finally, realising as she did so that she shouldn't have said it aloud even if nobody seemed to be listening.

"What? Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!"

"I know," she replied awkwardly. She hated this feeling, hated having to be the voice of reason when she knew it would make her friends angry with her, hated having to start a fight. It hurt. "But after talking to Snuffles..."

"But he's all for it," Harry said blankly.

"Yes," she agreed, staring at the window once more. "Yes, that's what made me think maybe it wasn't a good idea after all."

She nearly flinched at the anger in Harry's voice when he replied, wondering dully how long they would refuse to speak to her this time. "Let's get this straight. Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it any more?"

She knew he was hurt; his godfather was family, more so than his dreadful aunt and uncle, and Harry loved Sirius with all the desperation of someone who'd never had anyone to love before, but that was what made him unable to see clearly. "Do you honestly trust his judgement?" she asked quietly. Quite apart from anything else, Sirius had spent a dozen years in Azkaban. Animagus or not, it was doubtful that he could have come out of there with his sanity intact, and she wasn't about to put much trust in the way he saw the world.

"Yes, I do!" he snapped instantly. "He's always given us great advice!"

_Telling you to be careful after someone tried to set you up doesn't count, Harry. That was only once. _Her throat hurt; she knew that what she was going to say would upset him, and Ron would take his side, and the ensuing row was going to be painful. Why did she always have to be the one to crush their sunny optimism? "You don't think he has become... sort of... reckless... since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place?" she asked carefully. "You don't think he's kind of... living through us?"

"What d'you mean, 'living through us'?" Harry demanded.

"I mean... well, I think he'd love to be forming secret Defence societies right under the nose of someone from the Ministry... I think he's really frustrated at how little he can do where he is..." Which was understandable. Dumbledore hadn't handled it very well, and she had to admit that Snape's taunting hadn't helped. Even so, Sirius had responsibilities. "So I think he's keen to kind of... egg us on."

They both looked at her blankly. "Sirius is right," Ron said finally, "you _do _sound like my mother."

_Well, someone has to. _Biting her lip, she looked away and gave up. They didn't get it, and she really didn't want to make them angry with her again. It was all right for them; they had one another, and if they fell out they had her, and other friends. Hermione didn't. There were people she got on with, sort of, but Harry and Ron were her only close friends, and when they weren't speaking to her she had nobody. Gryffindor courage was all very well, but the world was getting darker and she didn't want to face it by herself even for just a few days.

* * *

><p>Severus stared dully at his reflection, steeling himself before leaving his peaceful dungeon to go to dinner. He really, really hated Halloween; the pain hadn't grown any easier with time, and he doubted it ever would. Regardless of any of his feelings, his life had ended on October 31st 1981; he'd really had nothing to live for ever since. He'd lost the only person left in his life that he'd given a damn about, he'd lost the first person to have made him believe that he was worth something – the Dark Lord was a monster, but he'd known the lies that a young Slytherin with nothing needed to hear – and he'd lost his only real purpose. Since then, he'd just been existing in a vacuum, waiting for his master to return.<p>

He didn't like thinking about that Halloween night. He didn't really remember much now, it was all just a haze of pain, but he remembered enough to give him terrible dreams if his Occlumency faltered while he slept, not that sleep was easy to come by any more. It had been worse since Potter had come to Hogwarts – unsurprisingly; the boy made _everything _worse just by existing. Sometimes he wondered if the boy had nightmares too, but not for long.

Halloween was a big night, though. Most witches and wizards liked going out to play, on the one night of the year when they could get away with being seen. And the Death Eaters all wanted to prove that their master wasn't dead; so did the Dark Lord himself. He had warned Dumbledore that he was going to be Summoned tonight and that it was going to be important; there was to be an Order meeting afterwards that he was commanded to attend, although he had no idea what time he'd be able to get there or what state he'd be in. He wasn't stupid enough to eat or drink anything, at least.

It seemed like forever until his arm finally burned, but it was barely nine. Silently he slipped out of the dungeons and away through the grounds, fixing his masks both physical and metaphorical before pushing his fingers under his sleeve to find the burning brand and answering his master's call. The meeting was outside tonight, he noticed, in the middle of a forest somewhere; that was unusual. Bowing to the tall figure in the centre of the clearing, he found his place in the circle and knelt, his dark eyes moving behind his mask to note whether anyone was absent.

The Dark Lord was in speech mode tonight, it seemed; the last shadowy figure had barely gone to their knees before he began speaking. Severus listened almost in shame; his master was a gifted orator and once these words had stirred him and inspired him, made him want to be a part of this. He hated to remember that, but it was true, and he forced himself to acknowledge it in every meeting; once, he had wanted this. Once, he had been truly a Death Eater, and even for Lily, he had found it painful to betray his master, even though he had known that what he was being made to do was wrong. And when the Dark Lord had returned last year, he remembered the horror and the almost pain he had felt on seeing the twisted ruin that his master had become.

From that opening speech, their master moved on to talking of future plans; in particular, he announced, he intended to bring their numbers back to full strength once more. Severus started paying more attention then, as he spoke of those loyal followers who had gone to Azkaban rather than renounce their faith. Azkaban too haunted his dreams if he couldn't block his nightmares out; he couldn't imagine that any of the Death Eaters still there would be in any fit state to do much for the cause.

Evidently the Dark Lord disagreed; at some point he planned to break them out. It wouldn't even be difficult, he said contemptuously; there were very few actual guards on the island, only the Dementors, who were no threat to him. He probably wouldn't make a move in that direction until the New Year, but soon their ranks would be full once more.

Everyone sounded pleased about that, but Severus knew they weren't. Nobody wanted more rivals for their master's favour, and plenty of people here wouldn't be happy to see some of those who would be released. He was pretty sure he'd heard Lucius curse softly; he sympathised entirely. Bellatrix Lestrange was Lucius' sister in law, but they didn't exactly get along and she had frankly been crazy before she went to prison. Severus still remembered her laughing as she played, and had to suppress a shudder.

Following the talk of strategy – such as it was – the Dark Lord usually let his followers have some fun. That was one good point about his trying to keep his return secret, Severus considered; there were no raids this time, no gruesomely flamboyant murders. So far, the only deaths had been to gain information, or occasionally a single nameless Muggle would be brought in either to test someone's commitment or as a reward. He knew that wouldn't last, but the longer he could go without adding to the blood on his hands, the happier he would be. It was only about a month since he'd last had to kill someone to prove himself, and he hadn't forgotten the way Granger had stared at him. The look in her eyes... seeing that never got easier, no matter who it was.

There were no captives tonight, at least. Instead, the Dark Lord demanded progress reports; resignedly, Severus started to prepare himself, knowing that his turn wasn't going to end well. His master dealt with the lesser followers from the outer circle first, and then those in the centre who were working on gaining access to the Ministry – Severus wished them luck, frankly, since they were going to need it. He himself had no idea why the prophecy apparently hadn't worked or what the other half of it said, but Dumbledore certainly had no intention of letting anyone find out in a hurry.

Finally, it was his turn. "Severus."

"My lord." Rising, he came forward and bowed; once he had needed to crawl to his master's feet, but he stood high enough now to be allowed to stand, for all the good that would do him.

"What do you have to report?"

"The Ministry continue to make things difficult, my lord. I am being watched as closely as the other teachers, but Dumbledore's hold is growing less secure by the day. Umbridge has overridden much of his authority."

"This is good news, but it is not what concerns me at the moment. Hogwarts is a future goal, not an immediate one. What of the Order, Severus? What do they plan?"

He winced inwardly, steeling himself. "My lord, the situation is the same as before. They are scrabbling to maintain their position, trying not to be discredited, trying to recruit others to their cause. They continue to guard the Department of Mysteries against us and continue to send envoys to other races, but I cannot find so much as a hint of any overt move against you."

Most people might have taken that as good news, he told himself sourly. The Death Eaters had the advantage at the moment, if his master could stop fretting about whatever tripe Trelawney had spouted and made an effort to do something. Of course, Severus was opposed to that and didn't want these people to win, but part of him was frustrated to see the wasted opportunity.

Those red eyes stared at him. "Severus, remove your mask."

He did so, knowing what was coming.

"On your knees."

Focusing on his breathing, Severus knelt, concentrating on his shields.

"Look at me. _Legilimens_!"

Pressure building behind his eyes, and then a spike of pain as his master accessed his mind, the mental touch brisk and impersonal and casually violent as the Dark Lord rifled carelessly through his memories, indifferent to whether it cost his spy anything.

"You have nothing new to offer me, Severus," he said dangerously when they were done.

He bowed his head. "I can only apologise, my lord. I do my best to serve you, you know that."

"Yet your best, of late, has been rather poor..."

"As you say, my lord." He hated himself for talking like this and being so sycophantic, but mostly because once he had genuinely meant it.

"Look at me." He did so, forcing himself to meet the inhuman red eyes, focusing on his breathing and his heartbeat and trying to relax his muscles in preparation for what was about to happen.

"_Crucio._"

A few people had asked him about the Cruciatus, over the years. Poppy, once, when she was trying to work out what, if anything, she could do to help the young man who'd crawled whimpering into the infirmary and collapsed. Dumbledore had once, and he'd refused to answer on general principles. Minerva had asked, too, after someone's birthday party when she'd drunk too much and been in a maudlin mood. He hadn't answered any of them, partly because he didn't want to talk about it but mostly because he didn't have the words to describe it.

It felt like molten ice, or freezing fire, an utterly unique sensation flowing along his veins. It started in his chest and radiated outwards through his nerves, and his sense of time always left him so he could track the agonisingly slow progress to his extremities even though it took only a fraction of a second. Then it reached his head, and all the pain receptors in his brain leaped to life, and the world ceased to exist; there was only fire and ice, a sensation so acute and overwhelming that it wasn't even pain but something else entirely, as his vision faded into darkness.

Severus was always frightened, during the Cruciatus. Sometimes it felt almost as though he had died; if he did die while being cursed, he would never know until he woke up in whatever hell would pass for his afterlife. That scared him, the idea that he could die without knowing that it had happened. The pain took him out of his senses, almost out of his body, or so it felt; in reality, he knew, he'd gone deep, buried himself behind all the defences of his mind and abandoned his flesh to the agony.

Aside from the pain, other physical sensations were distant shadows that he had to really concentrate to be aware of. Sometimes the curse made him scream, although not very often – he didn't really react to pain like that any more – and when it did, his throat became raw as his larynx became overstrained. If he had existing injuries, the agony made them worse; his liver was probably being further damaged at the moment. Sometimes he hurt himself when he writhed; no matter his pain threshold, the muscle spasms caused by the Cruciatus were beyond his control. But they were outside now, on damp earth, so he wouldn't bruise himself or hit anything this time. Occasionally the pain was intense enough for his body to fail him, and even Occlumency couldn't stop him from pissing himself, but he had to be under the curse for a long time to reach that point.

Time was impossible to measure. Poppy had tried to measure severity by asking how many times he'd been cursed or how long the curse had lasted, before they'd devised the somewhat arbitrary numbers scale to determine pain, and he'd never been able to answer her. There was no time in the strange place created when the agony of the Unforgiveable fractured his consciousness like this; it could have been a few seconds or a few hours before the flames died and left only ice behind.

The quality of the darkness changed to the familiar sight of the inside of his own eyelids, and he heard his blood pounding in his ears and his rather erratic heartbeat. His brain took control once more, and Severus perceived that he was lying on his right side, as he listened to himself panting; he was soaked in sweat and shaking as the cold slowly receded and left far more ordinary pain behind. There was blood in his mouth, which wasn't unusual; he usually bit his lip or his tongue at some point. Ignoring it, he picked himself up, disregarding the pain completely as he hauled himself stiffly back onto his knees and opened his eyes to stare fixedly at the ground; getting up before he had permission would be suicide, but staying in a state of collapse was a declaration of weakness that would be just as fatal in the long run.

"You know the price of failure, Severus."

His master's voice seemed to be coming from a distance, and echoed strangely, almost as though he was hearing it under water. That too was normal, if this could ever be called normal. His own voice sounded as emotionless as ever, although with a pained rasp to the usual silky tones, as he replied quietly, "Yes, my lord."

"Do not fail me again."

"No, my lord," he replied obediently; he didn't mean a word of it. He would fail both his masters many more times before this was over. The Dark Lord punished him physically, Dumbledore emotionally; he still wasn't sure which one hurt more.

"Return to your place."

Severus stood up slowly, ignoring the way the world spun around him as his vision darkened at the edges and the blood drained from his head fast enough to leave him dizzy. He knew from experience that he wouldn't actually faint even though it felt like he was about to. Replacing his mask, he walked slowly back to his place in the circle and knelt once more, running his tongue around his mouth to locate the bitten place and swallowing blood. It hadn't been that bad, this time; he'd hurt for the rest of the night and be aching and shaky tomorrow, but it was nothing he couldn't deal with, nothing he hadn't dealt with many times before.

* * *

><p>Hagrid's return at the start of November did nothing to improve Severus' mood. The envoy to the giants had failed, which was no surprise to anyone; furthermore, the half-giant's presence in Hogwarts again was only going to fuel Umbridge's campaign and make her more determined to destroy as much of the remaining stability as possible.<p>

Yet, surprisingly, her first move wasn't against the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, or against any of the staff; Severus was quietly minding his own business marking third-year essays when Minerva stormed into his office and slammed the door behind her, giving him a venomous glare. "I hope you're pleased, Snape," she spat at him.

Somewhat taken aback by the unusual degree of anger, Severus looked at her blankly, frowning slightly. "It's hardly my fault that the children started fighting after their Quidditch match," he pointed out. "They frequently do; it's a tradition by now. What's got you so riled up?"

"She's banned them," his colleague snarled.

He raised an eyebrow. "Banned whom?"

"Potter and the twins! I've lost half my team!"

Very unwisely, Severus snorted a laugh. That had been a mistake; you never taunted Minerva about Quidditch, not if you valued your skin, but he really couldn't help it. It had been wonderfully nasty of the toad – Potter would have let her actually amputate his hand before giving up his beloved sport, and without their Seeker or their Beaters, Gryffindor would almost certainly finish last in the Cup this year.

Minerva looked on the verge of slapping him, her eyes blazing fury. "It's not funny, Severus! Malfoy provoked them into it deliberately, and you know it!"

"Of course he did. He always does, and they always fall for it," he drawled in response. "They should have grown a thicker skin by now. That song wasn't even that clever, and I've heard far worse Quidditch chants over the years."

"That wasn't what started it. No son of Molly Weasley or Lily Potter would stand and let anyone insult them like that," she replied grimly, and he froze for an instant in understanding. Yes, that would do it. Nobody tolerated insults to their mother – Severus had never really liked his mother and was the first to disparage a lot about her, but he wouldn't have let anyone else say it – and Draco should be very fortunate that his Head of House hadn't been on hand to overhear him insulting Lily, as he had been fortunate in past years not to have been overheard using the word Mudblood.

"Be that as it may," he replied after a moment, once he was sure he was calm once more. "Go to Dumbledore and get it overturned. It's not the end of the world."

"I can't," she said helplessly, not sounding quite so angry any more. "Another damned Educational Decree."

"Oh, joy. What are we up to now, twenty four?"

"Twenty five. This one gives her the power to overrule us on any disciplinary issue. She can do anything to the students and we don't have the power to stop her."

"Bugger," Severus said after a moment, although truthfully he wasn't that surprised. It wasn't even going to make that much difference; she had already been doing pretty much anything she pleased. He wasn't sure any of the other staff members knew the truth about her 'detentions' yet; if he had taught anything other than Potions, he wouldn't have noticed either, but he did spend a fair amount of time watching his students' hands and he knew enough about Dark magic to recognise a Blood Quill scar when he saw one. It was always faintly possible that the boy was practising a particularly theatrical form of self harm, of course, but even Potter wasn't that daft.

"She's getting too powerful, Severus. I don't know how we're going to stop her."

"Between us, we'll think of something," he replied darkly, his mind already working. He'd had just about enough of the toad's interference for a while; time to give her something else to occupy her mind...

To that end, he arrived late to the next staff meeting. It was traditional for the last person to arrive to make the drinks for everyone else, and he usually tried to get there early for just that reason, but not this time. Settling down – at least nobody had tried to claim his usual corner chair before he got there – he sipped his coffee and watched the snow out of the window, listening with half an ear to the discussion and counting silently.

Right on cue exactly seven minutes later, the toad's pouchy face lost most of its colour, and it took everything he had to keep his face impassive as he watched her shifting and fidgeting in her chair. Four and a half minutes after that, she almost spilled her tea with an audible gasp that cut Filius off mid-sentence and drew all eyes to her.

"Is something amiss, Dolores?" Dumbledore asked, sounding genuinely concerned; she was paler than ever and starting to sweat, Severus noted gleefully.

"I... I..." she stammered, gulping air and looking more like a toad than ever, putting her cup down shakily and spilling half of it into the saucer. "Forgive me, Headmaster, I – feel a little... unwell... Perhaps I might be excused?"

"Of course. I do hope it's nothing too serious?"

"I do," Minerva muttered under her breath, and Severus' lips twitched before he regained control of his expression, keeping his features still until the door shut – Umbridge had been almost running, and he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"I do hope she's all right," Dumbledore murmured, watching the door for a moment. "Do you suppose it was something she ate?"

"Possibly," Severus agreed dryly, making no attempt to hide his smirk now as he leaned forward and Vanished the contents of her teacup.

"You – Severus, _what have you done?_"

"Me, Headmaster?" he asked innocently. Behind the old man, he saw Minerva starting to smile as understanding dawned, and nearly lost his composure completely.

"Don't play games, Severus. Did you poison her?"

He snorted. "Don't be insulting. If I'd poisoned her, she'd be dead. This will do her good."

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did you give her?"

"Nothing fatal. She will, unfortunately, be fine come Monday morning, although she may feel a little... _drained. _We do, however, have a pleasantly quiet weekend ahead of us now."

Several of his colleagues were sniggering now, and his smirk broadened; the pot of Galleons was going to be quite large by the end of the year, and he intended to claim it. The way things were going right now, he'd probably need it.

The Headmaster looked furious. "Why did you do this?"

"Because," he replied nonchalantly, starting to theatrically count the reasons on his fingers. "Because she deserves it. Because she irritates me. Because I don't want to see her for a few days. Because thanks to the Ministry it's about all I can do to her. And because it was funny."

"This is no game, Severus. The Ministry –"

"Oh, give it a rest," he told his employer. "I'm not actually an idiot and I know what the stakes are. She's not going to die; it's just a stomach upset. It might even do her some good, and at least she can't do any damage for a day or two." His lip curled. "Which is more than you've achieved."

The old man at least had the decency to look away.

* * *

><p>Hermione had slogged through the snow early on Sunday morning to get to Hagrid's, but he wasn't in a co-operative mood and clearly didn't believe her when she tried to explain about Umbridge. She tried to stress the need for lessons that wouldn't get him into trouble, but her friend clearly wasn't listening, and after a while she reluctantly gave up and returned to her other reason for visiting him.<p>

"One more question, Hagrid, before I go?" She gave him her most innocent smile; it wouldn't have fooled her mother for a second, and probably not Snape either, but everyone else tended to believe it because they didn't expect her to be feigning innocence. Which could be very useful at times, although she did feel a bit guilty about it. "I was wondering if there's anywhere safe to go running around here..."

After she had convinced Hagrid that no, the centre of the Forbidden Forest wasn't really what she had in mind (if _that _was where Snape went jogging, he was on his own) he showed her a track that ran a little way along the lake and looped back through the very edges of the tree line. Studying it briefly, Hermione noted that the snow had been trampled down and was marked with recent footprints that looked like trainers, and a glance towards the castle confirmed that most if not all of the route would be hidden from view even now when the leaves were gone from the trees. Perfect. The circuit was a couple of miles; she was glad now that she had been practising and building up her stamina, because while it would still be quite a bit of effort it probably wouldn't kill her.

"And nothing's going to attack me?" she asked, just to make sure. The squid would leave her alone if she stayed on the path, and she was pretty sure the very edge of the Forest was safe enough, but Hogwarts wasn't an environment for people who took their surroundings for granted.

"Nah, there's nothin' dangerous 'round here," he assured her cheerfully. _Not even Potions masters? _She didn't dare voice the thought, biting her lower lip for a moment as Hagrid continued, "Good ter see one of you lot takin' a bit of exercise."

That was certainly true; unless you were on the Quidditch team, the only exercise most of the students got was trotting around the castle to get to lessons. Given the average student diet, Hermione had always been quite surprised that half the school weren't built like Crabbe and Goyle. She had already noticed that since she had started jogging even small distances, she was sleeping better and felt more energetic.

"Do you think I'll be able to convince Harry and Ron to join me?" she asked Hagrid innocently now, and joined in with the hearty laugh that said just how likely that was. Nobody else was going to be remotely interested in joining in – which was precisely the point.

* * *

><p>She completed her first circuit of the trail during the lunch hour the next day. It wasn't as bad as she had feared; it was further than she usually ran, but the ground was level and the snow wasn't too treacherous. Now that she was fairly sure she wouldn't embarrass herself, it was time to finally put her plan into action before the weather got too bad, and she made sure to get an early night and to set her alarm for five in the morning.<p>

It was still pitch dark, which wasn't helpful. She had forgotten that it was November in Scotland and the sun wouldn't rise until around breakfast time. _It could be worse, _she told herself firmly as she made her way carefully through the castle mostly by memory and by praying that none of the staircases had moved. _It could be snowing again._

It was, and quite hard; she liked the snow, but not to run in. "Damn," she muttered as she picked her way around the outside of the building to find somewhere out of sight to warm up, checking her watch. Just gone half past five; with luck, Snape would already be out on the trail. When she reached it, she looked for footprints in between stretches to find out which way he had gone, and promptly set out around the circuit in the opposite direction.

There was a grainy light of sorts by the lake; whether it was reflecting from the water or somehow given off by it, she wasn't sure, but it meant she could see without needing to hold her wand in front of her, which was good, especially since the snow itself almost seemed to glow in the darkness. Inconspicuous was the name of the game for as long as possible today; now that she was actually out here, Hermione had realised just how bloody stupid this was, and was quietly fighting nerves even as she concentrated on her footing.

Nervousness became full-blown panic when she spotted a dark figure in the distance. Apart from anything else, she was too close to the Forbidden Forest to be comfortable; there really could be anything in those woods, and it was beyond foolish to be out alone. Which was sort of the basis for her entire plan, actually, but she was still feeling very edgy. Getting close enough to spot that it actually was Snape instead of some monster from the depths wasn't particularly reassuring, either, since she was pretty sure he was probably more dangerous than anything likely to be roaming the woods – with the possible exception of the now-feral Ford Anglia that was still driving around in there somewhere, anyway.

She knew the exact moment when Snape recognised her, since he skidded into the deep snow at the edge of the beaten trail and came quite close to hitting a tree before stopping dead. Concentrating on her breathing, and praying desperately to any gods that might be listening, Hermione gathered every scrap of threadbare courage that she still possessed and ran straight past him without turning her head or altering her stride, fighting the temptation to look at him. The skin on her back crawled as she fought to maintain her pace evenly until she had rounded the bend in the trail, when she broke into a flat-out sprint and hoped like hell that Snape was too shocked to pursue her.

* * *

><p>Having spent every meal that day resolutely avoiding looking anywhere near the staff table, Hermione passed a rather nerve-wracking night before repeating her performance the following morning.<p>

This time, Snape was evidently paying more attention, since he slowed to a stop almost as soon as he came into view and stood waiting for her. Her stride faltered as she started to slow down, before noticing that he had stepped to one side and wasn't blocking the trail; hoping she had guessed right, she speeded up once more, watching him warily as she drew closer.

He was worth a second glance, since he looked startlingly unlike her Potions teacher. For a start, he was wearing a rather muddy pair of dark grey tracksuit bottoms, a pair of snow-encrusted shabby-looking trainers and a navy long-sleeved t-shirt, dark with sweat in places; he also hadn't shaved, and his jaw was dark with scruffy-looking stubble that didn't really suit him but did make him look far less intimidating, especially once she got close enough to hear him breathing harder and noticed the slight flush of exertion in his cheeks. His disapproving and faintly irritated scowl, however, was every inch Professor Snape as he watched her, his arms folded across his chest; even so, he hadn't moved to block her way. Gathering her courage, Hermione jogged past him, nodding to him as she did so and carrying on with her run. He didn't say a word, but she could feel his eyes on her even after she had rounded the corner out of sight.

* * *

><p>That afternoon, Hermione stared in some dismay at her latest Potions essay. Snape's spiky, narrow handwriting wasn't particularly neat at the best of times and definitely seemed to be getting worse – she couldn't actually read the second digit of her mark, but it was at least in the eighties – but the two words <em>See me <em>next to the number stood out very clearly. Frowning slightly, she glanced quickly over the essay, reading the red scribbles; it was the usual stuff, mostly an attempt to find something worth criticising, with a few terse comments at the end once again reprimanding her for quoting entire paragraphs verbatim instead of coming up with something to say by herself. There was nothing there that would warrant Snape keeping her behind to lecture her... which meant that he wanted to see her about something else; which, in turn, meant that her utterly insane plan just might be working.

After class, she approached the front of the classroom with some trepidation. "You wanted to see me, Professor."

He glanced up long enough to notice that she wasn't holding her homework in front of her before continuing to stack the essays that he had collected in a neat pile on his desk. "Surely you are aware that it is not safe for you to be wandering the grounds by yourself."

"Sir?" she asked, firmly suppressing the little quiver of nervous excitement in her stomach. It was working!

"If you say 'Sir?' again in that stupid voice, Miss Granger, there will be trouble," he said coolly, walking past her and drawing his wand, beginning to clear the remains of the lesson away with brisk flicks. "You are not actually an idiot, most of the time, and when you try to sound like one it sets my teeth on edge. You know exactly what I am talking about."

If you squinted, that could almost be interpreted as a compliment, or at least the closest thing to it that she was ever likely to get from him. Making a note of it for future reference, Hermione said politely, "I wasn't wandering the grounds, sir. I was just out jogging. I never left the trail, and Hagrid promised me it was perfectly safe to run there."

Snape looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "This would be the same Hagrid who created the Blast-Ended Skrewt, and who has at various times possessed a cerberus, a dragon and an Acromantula?" he inquired in such a dry voice that she would have laughed if it had been anyone else. "He has odd ideas of safety at the best of times, Miss Granger, and I doubt he paused to consider what might happen to the most notorious Muggleborn witch of our time should she be out alone."

"I don't think a Death Eater is going to be able to snatch me from the side of the lake, sir."

He raised the other eyebrow and gave her a look of mocking amusement, and she bit her lip when she realised what she had said. After all, a Death Eater was staring at her at this precise moment from less than three feet away. _I can't believe I actually forgot. _Trying not to blush, she mumbled, "You know what I mean, Professor."

That earned her a dismissive snort as he began to set the classroom up for his next lesson. "You can be as glib as you like, Miss Granger, but the fact remains that it is still not safe. How many times have you or your little friends been hurt because you were where you were not supposed to be?"

When she opened her mouth he gave her a withering look. "That was a rhetorical question, as you well know. This is not open to discussion." He scowled. "Since everyone else in the castle seems to perceive any form of exercise that does not involve a broomstick to be a mortal sin, if you wish to run, you will do so with me." His reluctance was clear in his voice; that wasn't very flattering, but she couldn't blame him. The whole point of this plan was for her to discover whether or not she could stand his company, after all, and she already knew he couldn't stand hers.

"Yes, sir," she replied meekly. "Thank you, sir."

He glared at her in response, which didn't seem a fair reaction to being politely thanked for doing something he clearly didn't want to do, and his voice was an irritated growl as he said curtly, "You will meet me outside this classroom at five thirty each morning from Monday to Friday. Do not be late. If you are caught out of bed, that is your lookout. I will not protect you, either from Mr Filch or from – Professor Umbridge."

She bit her lip to hold back a grin at the almost unnoticeable pause; he had very nearly omitted Umbridge's title, which given his usual insistence on respect spoke whole volumes about his opinion of the latest Defence teacher. "I understand, sir."

"You may go."

Privately doing a victory dance in her head, she nodded and left quietly, biting her lip again to stop herself smiling triumphantly.

* * *

><p>Phineas visited her that evening just before she fell asleep. "Clever, Miss Granger," he observed quietly.<p>

"Thank you. Am I off to a good start?" she asked hopefully.

"That remains to be seen. You've certainly succeeded in irritating him."

"I'm breathing," Hermione pointed out rather whimsically, stroking Crookshanks. "Of course I'm irritating him."

"Ha. True. But you need to be careful. Between your Healing apprenticeship and this, I believe he is starting to wonder just how much of his free time is going to be occupied by you. If you have anything else up your sleeve, I would leave it for a while."

"I don't, not yet. One step at a time."

"Good answer," he told her. "Good enough for me to tell you that if you turn left on the second floor instead of right and take the small spiral staircase down towards the old wine cellars tomorrow morning, I will meet you and direct you to a passageway that will get you into the dungeons without encountering anyone else."

"Thank you," she said, surprised.

He shrugged. "I can hardly watch how this unfolds if Filch catches you, can I? Besides, as you will see tomorrow, the passageway I will show you connects to a little-known exit from the castle. It is the route he uses to leave quickly when he is Summoned and the route he returns by. You need to know where it is, just in case."

"I see. Thank you in any case."

Phineas nodded. "And you have no other plots in mind?"

"I'm hoping that this plan will let me learn enough about him to decide whether I want another plan or not."

The former Headmaster smiled rather unpleasantly. "I think you might be disappointed there. You lacked a rather crucial piece of knowledge."

A brief chill of foreboding made her shiver. "Oh? What?"

He smirked at her. "Severus Snape is not a morning person."

* * *

><p><em>Be careful what you wish for?<em>**  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

_Some__ PTL fan art with a difference from kayeita: _ravelry dot com /projects/softnshiny/after-darkness-light

* * *

><p><strong>"The more original a discovery, the more obvious it seems afterwards."<strong>  
>– Arthur Koestler.<p>

* * *

><p>The warning turned out to be perfectly true. When she arrived in the dungeons at five thirty precisely, she could see at a glance what Phineas had meant; Snape was as scruffy and unshaven as he had been before, bleary-eyed – in fact, his eyes were only half open, and not completely focused – and clearly not fully awake.<p>

"Good morning, sir," she greeted him a little nervously.

His voice was roughened from sleep and several octaves deeper than usual as he growled curtly, "Don't talk to me."

Hermione blinked at him; even for Snape, that was rude.

He elaborated slightly, with a brief waver to his voice that suggested he was trying not to yawn. "This is one of the few moments of peace I get all day. It is bad enough that I have to share it with you without having to put up with your babbling. I am not interested in small talk."

_Well, someone's a real bear in the mornings. _Biting her lip to stop herself smiling – not the usual reaction to Snape in a bad mood, but this was so unlike his normal viciousness that it wasn't remotely intimidating – she wondered idly if he was this charming to the other teachers over breakfast; generally by his first class of the day he was his usual sarcastic self. Under the circumstances she thought it was best to simply nod and follow him outside to begin warm-up stretches in the predawn darkness.

It turned out that when she had devised this plan, she had overlooked something else; namely, that she was only just at the average height for a girl her age, somewhere around five feet two or three, and that while Snape wasn't quite as tall as he usually managed to seem – not quite six feet, in fact – he was still quite a bit taller than her, and most of that difference was leg length. They had only been on the trail for a couple of minutes before she was finding it an effort to keep up with his longer strides, and by the time they reached the half way point and turned away from the lake shore to return through the trees she was seriously out of breath.

Snape had been running in total silence with his eyes half closed and his attention focused inwards, quite obviously miles away, so it took him a while to notice the problem. Once he did, to her surprise, he made an effort to shorten his strides a little and slowed down slightly, but with only marginal success – he clearly wasn't used to running in company, and nor was she. It took the rest of the jog back before they finally managed to work out a pace they could both maintain, and it was obviously going to need practice.

She wished him a good morning when they parted ways, earning herself a glare and a grunt that might have meant anything, and headed back to Gryffindor Tower for a quick shower in a thoughtful frame of mind. Clearly her plan to use this time to get to know her Potions professor better wasn't going to work out quite as she had anticipated, but overall it hadn't been so bad, so far. If nothing else, she told herself wryly, she was certainly going to get fitter – the man could _run._

* * *

><p>Once she was safely out of earshot, Severus finally allowed himself to yawn until his jaws creaked, leaning against the wall and rubbing his eyes tiredly before slouching off deeper into the dungeons to begin the long process required to transform him from his current somnolent state into a fully functioning human being. If there was an emergency, naturally, he could wake up instantly and be firing on all cylinders in seconds, but it would leave him feeling like death warmed over for the rest of the day and he much preferred to wake up nice and slowly.<p>

He regarded his reflection blearily as he splashed cold water on his face, rinsing away the sweat. No doubt his appearance had startled the girl, but she was old enough now to start learning that men didn't look their best first thing in the morning any more than women did. The dreaded Professor Snape was as human as the next man, and he needed to shave every morning, and while his hair was always pretty horrible – especially these days – it looked worse when he had just woken up, and it took a while before he really felt able to focus his eyes properly or speak.

The cold water did its work and nudged him into stage two of wakefulness, which meant he could function enough to shave without gashing his face open. He preferred to shave by hand rather than by magic; partly out of habit, partly because he felt it was a better shave, but mostly just because it was part of the morning ritual that let him wake up and come to terms with who he was. By the time he had rinsed the last of the lather away he was much closer to being properly awake, and a shower finished the process; he emerged from the bathroom his usual self and padded into his bedroom to get dressed, thinking.

This morning hadn't been a total disaster. He hadn't enjoyed it, he'd resented it, but it could have been worse. Technically, he had nobody to blame but himself – nobody had actually forced him into this, although he doubted she believed that – but he hadn't had much choice. The logic was simple. It wasn't safe for Granger to run around the grounds alone. There was no point wasting breath forbidding her to do so, since the young Gryffindor could teach stubbornness to rocks and wouldn't listen. Therefore, she would have to be accompanied by someone. And Severus had spent years peacefully running around the grounds secure in the knowledge that absolutely nobody else was interested and would therefore not disturb him. That meant Granger either ran with him, or went off by herself and got eaten. Under the circumstances, he hadn't seen any point in raising the issue with his superiors; he'd rather give in to the inevitable with some semblance of grace than be ordered to do so.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled on his socks and boots slowly, doing up the laces as he scowled to himself. She had agreed far too readily; he had a strong suspicion that she had planned this. And he didn't know why. Had it been any other student he would have known there was some sort of prank on the horizon – after fourteen years of teaching, he'd seen every scheme that petty-minded teenagers could come up with and he'd faced everything from bribery to attempted seduction and blackmail; he took considerable satisfaction in knowing that he'd never fallen for it. But he didn't really think Granger was the type to set him up – even he wasn't that paranoid; she didn't quite hate him enough for that – and whilst he certainly wouldn't have put it past Dilys to try and recruit the girl to spy on him, she wasn't capable of it. Presumably she was curious. That sounded so innocuous, but Granger had a unique mind, and once her curiosity was roused she became a force of nature to be very wary of. He had no intention of becoming her latest project.

That did rather assume that he could stop it, of course. Her status as an unofficial Healing apprentice gave her free access to some of the corners of his private world – not everything, of course, thank Christ for small mercies, but enough for her to potentially gain some of the keys to all of him. Nobody had ever spotted it so far, even those with all the information at their fingertips, which he was profoundly grateful for, but sooner or later someone was going to and it would be pretty typical of his luck for that someone to be an immensely irritating teenage girl with a compulsive need to fix things. On the surface, this new development seemed so harmless, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it was the first step down a very slippery slope indeed.

Well, whatever she was planning, he'd see to it that she was disappointed, he decided as he did up the cuffs of his coat and shrugged into his robe. At least she wouldn't be chattering at him every morning; he was rarely even capable of speech that early and certainly never had the desire to say anything. Hopefully she would get bored with the idea soon, and until then he supposed he could attempt to learn to slow down a bit and try to run at her pace. She'd soon tire of it and try something else, and he'd get his peaceful mornings back. And, of course, if he detected one single word about this on anyone's lips...

He smiled nastily, well and truly his normal self now, and left his rooms to endure breakfast in the toad's presence. It was quite entertaining watching her suspiciously examine every single mouthful, and right now he needed all the entertainment he could get.

* * *

><p>"Granger. <em>Granger. <em>Damnit, girl, wake up!"

Hermione opened one eye as she heard Crookshanks hiss in feline disapproval, and found that the picture frame above her bed was now occupied by Phineas Nigellus, scowling at her. "Merlin, girl, you sleep like the dead. Get up."

"Why?" Rolling over, she squinted vaguely at the clock on her bedside table. "It's not even one in the morning. And I know there's no medical emergency 'cause if there was, it'd be Dilys, not you..." She trailed off to yawn, her jaws creaking.

"We're going on a mystery tour," the portrait told her curtly. "I'm going to show you Severus' rooms. He'll be gone all night; we may not get another chance for a long time."

Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she thought about this, still half asleep. "Why are you helping me all of a sudden?" she asked him suspiciously, echoed by a rumble from Crookshanks; her familiar didn't appreciate being disturbed at this hour either unless he chose to get up and go about his business.

The former Headmaster snorted. "I'm not helping you, I'm helping him," he replied cryptically. "Get yourself to the dungeons. Don't take all night, and don't let yourself be seen." He vanished from the frame without further explanation.

Hermione sighed and met her cat's eyes for a moment. "You can stop looking so smug, furball. If I get up, the warm spot will disappear," she pointed out to him, sighing and sliding out of bed to find her dressing gown.

* * *

><p>By the time she made it down to the dark and chilly corridor where Snape's private quarters were located, she had woken up enough to wish she hadn't. It was freezing, she was tired, and she had to be up early. She also wasn't happy about this; if Snape found out that she had been snooping around his rooms, he'd kill her, regardless of their current uneasy alliance – and he wouldn't be wrong; she wasn't comfortable with this idea at all. And how on earth Phineas thought it would help the Potions master to have her poking through his things was anyone's guess, unless the portrait was just trying to cause trouble.<p>

She stood irresolutely outside the door of his office, biting her lip. Ordinarily his office wasn't protected, but she'd never tried to get in out of hours before and she wouldn't put it past the Head of Slytherin to ward his door when he wasn't there. "Fine, I'm here," she whispered finally.

"You took your time," Phineas growled from the frame opposite the door, a small oil painting of a dark stretch of moorland at night. "What are you waiting for?"

"Where is he tonight?"

"None of your business."

"Well, when's he going to be back? If he walks in on me, I'm dead."

"Not for hours yet, I assure you. Stop dawdling."

"How does he guard his door when he's not here?"

"You can go through his office without a problem; the ward on the door is a psychic barrier and works on intentions. If you mean him harm it will burn you badly; if you just want to cause trouble it won't let you in; I don't imagine it will do anything to stop you. There are no frames in the office at the moment, so I will see you in his living room. His current password is 'Morning Star', for some reason."

The portrait vanished without waiting for a response, and Hermione cautiously let herself into the darkened office. She actually quite liked the look of this room, but Snape's collection of bottled _things _was even more sinister late at night, she noticed with a shiver as she hurried across the room to the far door and touched the doorknob. "Morning Star," she whispered, and heard a click.

As she opened the door, she contemplated the choice of password. There was a weapon called a morningstar, a spiky ball of metal on the end of a chain, but she didn't think that was it, somehow. She was pretty sure it was actually a reference to Lucifer, the Lightbringer, the rebellious fallen angel who had become Satan; he was also known as the Morningstar, or the Daystar. _Nice bit of symbolism there. _Prudently closing the door behind her in case anyone else was lurking around and saw the light, she drew her wand and whispered, "_Lumos._"

The first thing that struck her was the size of the room; it was a lot smaller than she had been expecting. There was a desk at this end, shabbier than the one in his office and with a less comfortable-looking chair behind it, covered in stacks of books and parchment and far messier than the surface of the desk in his office or in his classroom. Bookshelves lined the walls at this end of the room from floor to ceiling, and her fingers itched before she sternly told herself to behave.

At the other end of the room was a small fireplace with a clock on the mantelpiece; a couple of battered armchairs and a small coffee table had been placed in a rough semicircle in front of the fireplace. A liquor cabinet stood against one wall, between two doors. The walls were plain stone apart from a huge and impressive oil painting of Hogwarts as seen from the far side of the lake, which now featured Phineas Nigellus in the foreground.

"Am I supposed to be looking at anything in particular?" she asked softly, and he shook his head.

"No, but you wanted to know more about what sort of man Severus is. This will show you. Look around, but don't touch anything."

Nodding, she slowly circled the room, examining things and trying to stay away from the temptations of the bookshelves. A brief, guilty glance at his desk showed her that Snape kept his school work out in the office; this looked like his own private Potions research, or possibly a localised hurricane. It was unbelievably tempting to look through his notes to see what he was working on, but she wasn't going to invade his privacy any more than she could avoid. Apart from anything else, she didn't want to underestimate him; it wouldn't surprise her to learn that he could somehow tell if she had touched anything.

"Where do the doors go?"

"The one on the right leads to another entrance to his private laboratory, which as you know can also be reached through the Potions store room – not the one the students use, the main one. The door on the left is our destination tonight."

The door on the left led into a passageway ordinarily lit by a single candle, although it stood dark and cold in the sconce now. To the left there were two doors; to the right, the passage stretched away into the darkness. Phineas called softly to her, "The corridor is the one he uses to leave the castle, both when Summoned and for your morning runs; it's his private exit. One of the doors leads to his bathroom, the other to his bedroom."

One of the doors stood half-open, and proved to lead to the bathroom; she picked that as the less disturbing option and peered in curiously. All the Hogwarts bathrooms were pretty luxurious, and the Prefect's bathroom was ridiculously opulent; it stood to reason that the staff's own private facilities would be something special. If that was true, then Snape was clearly the exception that proved the rule; his bathroom wouldn't have looked particularly out of place in a suburban Muggle house. The bathtub was one of the old-fashioned free-standing ones with the claw feet, no larger than a generous bath would be at home – it certainly wasn't practically a swimming pool like the other tubs here. Everything else was much as she would have expected – shower stall, toilet, laundry bin, small sink with a mirror over it, a single shelf holding his few toiletries and a towel rail underneath it.

Hermione looked around, frowning slightly; a nagging sense of unease had started in his living room, and the bathroom was making it worse, but she couldn't quite work out why. Everything looked normal, but something seemed off. The fact that Snape's rooms were below ground and therefore didn't have any windows wasn't helping, but that wasn't it. Absently biting her lip as she thought about it, she rather reluctantly went back into the hallway and tried his bedroom door apprehensively.

Again, the smallness of the room caught her by surprise. The students all had king-size four-poster beds in their dormitories, but Snape only had a single bed – presumably deliberately, since although the room was smaller than she had expected it wasn't _that _small and could have held something larger if he'd wanted. In addition to the bed, there was a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a sturdy cabinet that doubled as a bedside table, and a small desk and chair; there was also a screen across one corner. Curious, she padded across the floor to look around it, and gasped softly in surprise as she beheld an absolutely beautiful piano.

"A pretty thing, isn't it?" Phineas commented softly; the painting in the bedroom was a watercolour of a remote beach in winter, starkly beautiful in an austere sort of way. "He doesn't play it very much these days, sadly." Indeed, the piano was somewhat dusty, she saw, and the nagging sense of wrongness increased. There was a rack of sheet music next to it that looked equally neglected.

Turning away from the beautiful instrument, she looked up at the painting. "Does he play well?"

"Yes," the portrait replied simply.

That seemed very unlike the Snape she was familiar with, but then, that was the point, wasn't it? Phineas was trying to show her that she actually didn't know anything about the real Snape. So far, he had proved that point very clearly. Hermione looked around the room again curiously, trying to work out why his quarters seemed subtly wrong. "Why is the piano dusty? Don't the house-elves keep it clean?"

"No. He banned them from his rooms years ago."

She bristled at that. "Why?" It certainly wouldn't be for any moral reason, so obviously he disliked them, which was hardly fair.

Phineas snorted and gave her a contemptuous look, but grudgingly explained after a moment. "Because the Hogwarts house-elves all answer to the Headmaster; Severus doesn't always get along with his employer and he refuses to let Dumbledore spy on him. The dungeons are off limits to everyone precisely so that he can hide away down here, and I can't say I blame him for it."

"Can I look around more closely, do you think?"

"Yes. Just don't break anything."

"As if I would," she muttered, stung, and glared at him before starting to nose around in earnest. The chest of drawers just held clothes; underwear and socks in the top drawer, t-shirts and undershirts in the next one down and trousers in the bottom drawer, all either black, grey or white.

The wardrobe held more clothes; his jogging gear was shoved unceremoniously onto the shelf at the top, and his frock coat and teaching robes hung from hangers along with a few white shirts. A spare pair of boots sat on the floor of the wardrobe, and there was a narrow mirror fixed to the inside of the door – presumably not an enchanted one, since it didn't say anything, and no magical mirror would have been able to resist the urge to criticise her hair, which was even worse than usual since she hadn't bothered combing it before coming down here. Leaning against the back of the wardrobe behind the clothes, where some wizards might have kept a broom, Hermione discovered a pair of elderly crutches, one of which bore a faded and peeling sticker proclaiming it to be the property of North Manchester General Hospital.

_Finding a gateway to Narnia would actually be less weird, _she decided, staring at the crutches blankly. There weren't many objects more surreal for a wizard to own; she was pretty sure even Arthur Weasley wouldn't be interested in crutches. Carefully closing the wardrobe, she looked around once more, biting her lip as the nagging feeling that she was missing something surfaced again.

She investigated the cabinet by his bed next, and blinked at the array of bottles and jars lined up neatly inside. Most of them were potions bottles, naturally, and she recognised a lot of healing potions of one sort or another, but there were a few bottles of Muggle medicines as well – painkillers, anti-inflammatories, antibiotics and ones she didn't recognise. There was a shoebox that held a box of plasters and surgical dressings, a lot of rolls of bandaging of varying thicknesses and widths, a pair of scissors and a smaller box that held a packet of needles, a roll of thread and an actual scalpel. Next to that was a locked metal box; there was also a book that turned out to be a copy of Grey's Anatomy.

This wasn't a bedside table, this was a sophisticated medical store, and one that clearly saw a lot of hard use. Hermione thought briefly about the bathroom cabinet at home, which didn't hold anything more dangerous than a box of ibuprofen, some mouthwash and a bottle of TCP, and shook her head. There were a few dark spots on the stone floor beside it, which looked horribly like bloodstains.

"What's in the metal box?" she asked Phineas softly.

"Enough assorted illegal substances to earn him several prison sentences in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Don't touch it, he's laid a nasty ward on it."

His drugs stash, then, presumably; apparently he still denied having started using anything hard again, but there were enough possible signs for Madam Pomfrey to remain slightly sceptical. Suppressing a sigh, she closed the door of the cabinet carefully. There was a notebook and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on top of the cabinet, along with the book he was presumably currently reading – it was in French and looked very old and she had no idea what it was. "What's this notebook? Does he keep a diary?"

"Hardly," Phineas said scornfully, giving her a withering look. "Much of what happens to him isn't safe to record, and I doubt he wants to remember most of the rest. It's a medical record, of sorts, but not like the ones you're familiar with. He has psychological notes in there, and notes on his sleeping patterns, and a dream diary, and all sorts of things. Poppy would give her eye teeth to see it – and judging by the look on your face so would you – but don't even think about it. It's tightly warded."

Hermione looked around the room again; just the desk left. Unlike the comfortable clutter of the one in his living room, this one just held three large spiral-bound notebooks. As she approached, Phineas said quietly, "Don't touch those. They aren't warded – which is very stupid of him; I don't know why he hasn't protected them – but don't touch them."

"What are they?"

"His sketchbooks."

She blinked at him. "He draws, too?"

Phineas nodded. "He also paints, as well, but like his music his painting has rather fallen by the wayside. He still sketches, though, and his art can be very personal, although it tends towards the surreal and abstract much of the time and I couldn't comment on his relative skill or ability; he only draws things that are very important to him. You don't need to learn quite this much about him, not yet. Maybe another time."

"That's hardly fair. You get me all curious and then tell me I'm not allowed to see?"

"You'll live. All right, mystery tour is over. Take a last look and then get out; if he catches you in here..."

"Yes, yes, I know." She obediently took a final look around the room, her eyes narrowing. "What am I missing?" she asked softly. "I think I can feel what you wanted me to see here, but... something's off."

Phineas made a sound of pure disgust and said contemptuously, "Are you a witch or a Muggle? Open your eyes and look properly."

Wasting a glare on him, she looked around again, thinking about his other rooms, and finally slow understanding dawned. Snape's rooms were small and sparsely furnished; all the furniture was quite old by its appearance, none of it was particularly ornate or decorative and most of it was worn from heavy use. There was nothing particularly luxurious anywhere; the armchairs in the living room had looked comfortable enough, but they also looked old, cheap and well used. Her eyes fell on the single bed; she didn't need to venture an experimental prod at the mattress to see that there was a slight hollow in the middle where the springs had gone and caused it to sag slightly. The clothing in the wardrobe had all been fairly good quality, although it was hardly Saville Row tailoring, but again it was all far from new; she took another quick look and noted the signs of wear at the seams and cuffs.

"Why does he live like this?" she asked Phineas softly. If someone had told her that these rooms belonged to a not terribly well off middle-class Muggle bachelor, she might have believed them, but it certainly didn't look as though a moderately successful wizard who held a fairly prestigious job and was extremely good at magic lived here. Even if Snape was poor – she had no idea what any of her teachers earned – it didn't cost any money to Transfigure or repair things.

"That's an important question, and one you should think about," the portrait replied quietly, for once not sneering. "For now, though, it is after half past two and you should return to your bed."

Safely back in her dormitory once more, Hermione warded her bed curtains to block out Lavender's snoring and settled down, closing her eyes and listening to Crookshanks purring as she thought about those rooms. The general atmosphere in Snape's quarters had been one of indifference; there were no personal touches, no ornaments and few pictures, no rugs or cushions, none of the small touches that made a house into a home. She had a feeling that everything was so worn and shabby because he simply didn't care enough to fix it, for the same reason that his skin was so badly scarred and his hair always seemed to need washing.

The other feeling she had picked up from looking around his rooms had been loneliness. There was no sense of comfort or pleasure, save perhaps for the books in the living room; his bedroom was more hospital room than refuge, his art seemed to be a form of therapy and his music lay abandoned and dusty. Those rooms were the home of a man whose life held no real pleasure, who was existing rather than living, and she felt very sorry for him.

* * *

><p>When Severus got back to the school, tired and sore and thoroughly fed up, he knew instantly that someone had been in his rooms. Prowling around and investigating everything confirmed that whoever it was hadn't touched anything, nothing was missing and nothing was damaged, but that really wasn't the point. He brooded his way to a conclusion, and during his free period next day he unceremoniously called Dilys and Phineas to the picture frame in his living room.<p>

Folding his arms, he glared at the portraits. "This stops now."

"What does?" Dilys asked innocently, and he gritted his teeth.

"Don't. I'm not in the mood for games. You know what I'm talking about, and it stops now. I don't know how deeply you've dragged Poppy into your little scheme and I don't want to know, but I can see what the pair of you are doing."

"And what is that?" Phineas drawled.

His eyes hardened. "Encouraging Miss Granger to take an unhealthy interest in my life," he said quietly. "Watching Poppy treat me was one thing, but everything else is a result of you two meddling – no student would ever even behave civilly to me of their own free will, let alone start looking deeper. She's a nosy brat and she doesn't need your help to seriously make me angry."

"Severus, don't be so nasty. She's been a great help so far; stop being so ungrateful."

"_Ungrateful?_" he hissed angrily. "I never asked for her interference. Poppy can do what is necessary. It's bad enough that I've agreed to be her guinea pig but I will not tolerate this. I know one of you let her in here last night. I can't prove it or she'd be in very deep trouble, but I know what happened, as I know one of you told her where and when I usually go running. I won't tolerate this any longer. Both of you, keep out of my life and hers. I have no idea why you're trying to push us together so often, but unless you want me to end up throttling her, _stop interfering._"

Dilys said rather sadly, "I thought you'd grown to like her, Severus. She's a nice girl, and she wants to help you. Why is that such a bad thing?"

_I don't like being pitied. _He said coldly, "Miss Granger is an insufferable know-it-all who has done nothing but irritate me for the last five years. I don't want any student meddling in my life, certainly not an annoying little nuisance like her. I don't want to become her next project and I don't want or need _anyone _constantly plaguing me. I will say this one more time; both of you, stop interfering, or I will not be responsible for my actions if you push me too far. Is that clear?"

The portraits exchanged a long look before Phineas said crisply, "Crystal."

"I'm glad we understand one another. Now get out."

* * *

><p>"That went rather well, didn't it? I'm surprised it took him so long to snap; he must have realised a long time ago."<p>

"Yes, it seems you were right after all. Interesting."

"Should we actually obey him, do you think? You know how proud he is; if we call his bluff, he really will lambast the poor girl, and it's not her fault."

"I think we should, at least for a little while. He can't be pushed any further yet; let him relax a little."

"Do you think we've done enough so far?"

"I would say so. Whatever he says, it's not just idle curiosity or a desire to annoy him, and he's not as angry as he thinks he is. I think we should sit back and watch. And I still can't believe you talked me into this in the first place, but I can't deny that it's working."

"I wonder how far it will go? You know sooner or later he's going to start being stupid and try to ruin it. If there isn't enough in place before he does, that will end it."

"I agree with him, the girl is annoying, but she's also not stupid. I think by the time they reach that point she'll be able to work out why he's doing it and make up her own mind. For now, woman, we've interfered enough; let them find their way by themselves for a while. If we do much more, Albus or Poppy will find out, and all hell will break loose. Leave them to it."

"How long do you suppose it will take? I think he's closer than she is..."

"I agree, I think he's already lost even if he doesn't know it yet, but she'll overtake him soon enough. It will be quicker for her than for him once things start moving. Apart from anything else, she isn't quite as stubborn as he is."

"Oh, I hope that's not true. She's going to need every scrap of obstinacy she can muster before this is done."

"What on earth are you two talking about? Some of us are trying to sleep."

"It's absolutely none of your business."

* * *

><p>Hermione missed all the excitement in the middle of December. She woke up to find Gryffindor Tower humming with the news that Harry had done something, although nobody was very clear on just what, and he and the Weasleys had all left the school; utterly bewildered, Hermione went looking for their Head of House. Professor McGonagall seemed very distracted, but told her that Mr Weasley had been hurt while on business with the Order and that Harry had found out and gone to the Headmaster; everyone was at St Mungo's now.<p>

Hermione listened to the story with wide eyes and made her way out of her professor's office feeling rather shaken; she was trying to think about the snake, the dream and everything else she had just learned, but the thought that kept coming to the front of her mind was, _why didn't anyone tell me? _She knew the Weasleys saw Harry as a member of the family, but... she'd thought they might see her that way, too. Surely it wasn't still about all that crap in _Witch Weekly _last year; Mrs Weasley might still feel funny about that, maybe, but the others? She liked the twins and Ginny, and Ron and Harry were supposed to be her best friends. Mr Weasley had always been kind to her and she'd liked talking about the Muggle world to him; she wanted to be at the hospital as well. She didn't know how badly he was hurt.

After spending several hours pacing restlessly around and bouncing wildly between near-frantic worry about Mr Weasley and annoyingly adolescent fits of hurt feelings, Hermione was driving herself mad. Crookshanks had long since got fed up with her and stalked off, and she couldn't talk to anyone else because only the Order knew about the attack.

Which, she supposed, didn't mean that she couldn't talk to other Order members. But the Headmaster no doubt had enough on his mind already and she didn't really know him well enough to want to pester him, and Professor McGonagall would likewise be busy, and Madam Pomfrey wasn't deeply involved with the Order and didn't know any details, and the only other Order member at Hogwarts was...

...not as unappealing an idea as he should have been, she realised, somewhat to her surprise. She doubted Snape would know much about the attack, or that he would tell her if he did, but she still wouldn't mind talking to him simply because he knew what had happened. That in itself would be a relief.

_I am completely mental, _she told herself as she left through the portrait hole and began making her way down to the dungeons. Apart from anything else, if either Filch or Umbridge caught her sneaking around, she was dead meat – she was very clearly not Umbridge's favourite person, and Filch didn't like her because Crookshanks had beaten Mrs Norris up in third year. The fact that Hermione hadn't known that until the caretaker hissed it at her more than a week afterwards didn't seem to matter. It was also worth remembering that Snape himself was highly unlikely to be pleased to see her – if he was there at all. He might well have been Summoned. The smart thing would have been to check with one of the portraits first, but she was tired and upset and a little scared and she didn't feel up to being a Slytherin tonight.

It took some time before her rather tentative knock on his office door was answered, and the result wasn't promising; Snape yanked the door open, looking tired and irritable, and growled, "What?" before actually registering who it was. He blinked at her. "Miss Granger? What – I thought you would be at St Mungo's."

"Harry and the Weasleys are," she said in a small voice that sounded a lot more forlorn than she wanted it to. "I wasn't asked."

"Ah." He regarded her for a moment, looking a lot less hostile than he had done a moment ago. "I'm afraid I have no news to report, Miss Granger. I know little more than you do about this at the moment."

"I didn't really expect it, sir." She hesitated, trying to find a scrap of that legendary Gryffindor courage anywhere, and failed to come up with anything; she was about to admit defeat and slink away when Snape spoke again, his voice softer than before.

"I have a great deal of work to do, but if you are at a loose end, you may help."

Hermione blinked at him and was unsettled by his expression; that penetrating black-eyed stare seemed to be looking straight through her and she got the uneasy feeling that he could see a lot more than she wanted him to. There had always been rumours that Snape could read minds, but she had never believed them – until now. Not trusting her voice, she nodded mutely and followed him deeper into the dungeons.

He led her through a door she had never taken any notice of before that opened out from one of the Potions store rooms and down a short flight of steps into his private laboratory. On the surface it didn't look much different from the Potions classroom or from any of the smaller rooms used by the more advanced students at NEWT level, but since Snape was responsible for the layout of all of them that wasn't a surprise. The equipment in here was more sophisticated, and there was a lot more of it. Crossing to the cauldron he had apparently been working at when she had interrupted him, Snape checked the contents briefly before looking back at her.

"I believe you helped Madam Pomfrey with the last Infirmary stock check?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then this should look familiar to you." He handed her a piece of parchment that listed, in her own handwriting, the potions that the mediwitch had decided were running low. "Pick one and brew a batch. I don't care which."

Hermione stared at him. "Sir?"

"Was there something about that sentence that you did not understand, Miss Granger?"

"...The sentence itself, I think, sir," she said faintly. "These potions –"

"Are all basic healing potions," he interrupted her impatiently, "and thus form a legitimate part of your apprenticeship. Ordinarily you would not be brewing them this early in your training, but a girl capable of brewing Polyjuice in her second year shouldn't find them too challenging. Besides, I am well aware of how dangerous you are when you are bored, and I imagine it will be worse when you are upset. It is far better for all of us if you are given something legitimate to occupy your mind, and I don't have time to brew them all myself. Now get to work."

The impatient snap to his voice jolted her into action and she obeyed automatically; the first few ingredients were simmering gently in the cauldron before her brain woke up and she asked incredulously, "How do you know I made Polyjuice in my second year?"

Snape turned from his bench and gave her a look of open amusement. "Come now, Miss Granger. You partially turned yourself into a cat. As Potions accidents go, it was quite spectacular; is it such a surprise to find out that I was involved in reversing the effects?" He chuckled softly, a thoroughly nasty sound, apparently savouring the memory.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, she turned back to her cauldron, utterly mortified and also somewhat confused – if he had known it was her all along, why had he never said anything? She'd certainly broken quite a few school rules on that occasion, as had Harry and Ron.

Apparently unperturbed by her emotional distress, Snape continued thoughtfully, "Besides, as much as I enjoy blaming Mr Potter for everything – and I do – I don't actually believe him capable of successfully stealing from my stores; he is certainly nowhere near skilled enough to even attempt something as complicated as Polyjuice, even now."

"Why didn't you say anything, sir?" she asked, aware to her irritation that she was still blushing.

He shrugged. "It is unfortunately not against the school rules to try and play the hero, Miss Granger, although in many cases it certainly should be – particularly in Gryffindor. Your motives were good, at least. It _is _against the rules to steal from me, of course," he added blandly, his eyes glittering with malicious amusement, "but the image of you with fur and whiskers has afforded me enough enjoyment over the past few years to be worth the price of a few ingredients, particularly since they were paid for by the school and not out of my own pocket."

Realising – rather too late – that this was a conversation she was never, ever going to win, Hermione decided that discretion was the better part of valour at this point. Biting her lip, she shut up and concentrated on her potion, wondering uneasily if Snape knew about any of the other things she had done wrong over the years. She really, really hoped not.

* * *

><p>That had been the end of any conversation between them; Snape turned out to be quite an obsessive worker, and when she turned around a short while later to ask him a question one look at his face told her that he wouldn't even hear her. It would take quite a lot to break through his concentration right now, and if she succeeded he would probably kill her for it. Whatever he was working on seemed very complicated and seemed to be annoying him, judging by the way he was muttering to himself, unless that was just a reflection of his mood.<p>

Despite his obviously increasing irritation and growing frustration as time passed, it was surprisingly peaceful down here. The sounds of the castle weren't even a background hum; it was wonderfully calm and quiet this far below ground, and although it was really quite cold down here the heat from the bubbling cauldrons kept the worst of the chill away.

Concentrating on her potions, Hermione nearly had a heart attack when the near-silence of the lab was abruptly broken by Snape explosively yelling, "Fuck!" in a tone of sheer frustration and hurling a glass beaker across the width of the room to shatter against the wall in a shower of glittering shards and a spray of some dark liquid. "Bloody buggering hellfire!" he added for good measure in a rough voice, before snarling wordlessly at the mess.

She stared wide-eyed as he whirled away from his bench before pulling up short and staring back at her; apparently he had forgotten that she was there. He actually flushed slightly, looking away a little guiltily as he shoved a hand through his lank hair. "My apologies, Miss Granger," he muttered gruffly.

The language itself didn't bother her; it wasn't as if she hadn't heard it before. What did bother her was the fact that it was very, very unlike Snape to start randomly yelling obscenities, no matter how annoyed he was – in fact, she was reasonably certain that she had never heard him swear. "When did you last get any sleep, sir?" she asked quietly, turning her attention back to her cauldron once more.

"Two days ago," he replied flatly, flicking his wand at the mess on the floor to clear it up and starting to sort through the ingredients on his bench once more.

"Can't you get some rest now?"

"Of course I can," he replied sarcastically, before sighing. "Would you like to volunteer to tell your Weasley friends that their father is dead because I needed a nap?"

Hermione turned to stare at him again. "I thought St. Mungo's..."

"Don't make me laugh," he said contemptuously, sounding about as far from laughter as he could get. "They're floundering around just trying to stop him bleeding to death before someone finds an antidote. Their Potions department is pathetic and barely deserving of the name and most of their staff are incompetent fools. I should know; I taught half of them."

"Why would anyone else know how to treat Nagini's bite, sir?" she asked quietly. "It _was _Nagini, wasn't it?"

He gave her a sharp look, before nodding. "It was, yes," he confirmed softly. "And no, they could not possibly know how to treat it. That has nothing to do with their general incompetence, however," he added crisply, before shrugging slightly and turning back to his work. "I don't know how to treat it, either. I am more or less making it up as I go along. I am in a position to make a more educated guess than most, but not by much. I try to stay clear of Nagini where possible."

"What kind of snake is she?"

"I have no idea," he replied. "Herpetology is not particularly my area of expertise. Her markings are similar to those of a boa constrictor, but she is highly venomous. I think she is related to an anaconda, but I really do not know. I can tell you that since Arthur Weasley survived the initial attack, he will almost certainly live; her victims usually die within minutes. He was found just in time."

"Do you know what he was guarding, sir?" she dared to ask, taking advantage of his unusually talkative mood.

"Yes."

So much for 'talkative', it seemed. "Will you tell me, sir? Please?"

"No."

"Sir..."

"I said no, Miss Granger," he said repressively, turning his head to give her a warning look. He held her gaze for a long moment before returning to what he was doing and continuing in a less dangerous voice, "It is not my place to tell you, and it is not the time. I hope you will not learn that for a long time yet. Suffice to say that he was guarding an important secret that the Dark Lord would sacrifice anything to learn. I don't know what the secret is, before you ask. There is too much risk of his learning it from me." There was an odd note in his voice that seemed almost like bitterness, and she judged it better not to press him further about it.

"Professor McGonagall told me about Harry's dream, sir. About seeing through the snake's eyes. What do you think it means?"

"I have my suspicions," he replied distantly, "as does the Headmaster, I am sure. He will deal with it as he wishes. I am not his confidante."

"Is it something to do with Harry being a Parselmouth?"

"Damnit, girl, I already told you that I don't know what happened," he snapped. "I need to get this done before I am Summoned again or I collapse from sheer exhaustion, whichever happens first. Will you please shut up and let me concentrate?"

She did.

* * *

><p>Hermione was badly startled some time later when Snape took her stirring rod out of her fingers; she hadn't heard him approach. "Time to stop, Miss Granger," he told her softly. "You were practically asleep where you stand. Go to bed. I can finish this."<p>

She started to protest, but her body betrayed her, and by the time she had managed to stop yawning he was chuckling softly, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he gave her an amused look. "Go to bed," he repeated. "You cannot change anything by denying yourself rest and in this condition you are likely to cause an accident. Hopefully by morning there will be some news; right now, you need sleep. _Go away._"

Reluctantly realising that she was in no fit state to argue, she nodded wearily and turned away from the bench, making her way to the door. "Thank you for letting me stay, sir. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

He shrugged slightly. "Your assistance was appreciated. In any case, you needed something to do to occupy yourself. It is never pleasant to be excluded, especially under these circumstances, and you were worried. Be careful as you return to Gryffindor Tower; it is Professor Umbridge's night for patrol."

"Maybe I can push her down the stairs," Hermione muttered, before freezing as she realised she had said it aloud – she was obviously more tired than she had thought. Casting a rather horrified look at Snape, she relaxed fractionally when she saw that his dark eyes had crinkled at the corners again in silent amusement.

"Did you say something?" he asked blandly. "I am afraid I wasn't paying attention."

"It wasn't about anyone important, sir," she dared to say in response, and saw his eyes glitter appreciatively in amusement as he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Indeed. Pleasant dreams."

* * *

><p><em>Matchmaking portraits? Oh dear.<em>**  
><strong>


	8. Chapter 8

_Severus isn't having a very good time at the moment._

* * *

><p><strong>"It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to desire, and many things to fear."<strong>  
>– Sir Francis Bacon.<p>

* * *

><p>The rest of the year passed rather monotonously as far as Severus was concerned. The Weasleys had eventually remembered that Granger was their friend, and she was off somewhere, St Mungo's or the Burrow or Headquarters or wherever, and he was once again running through the snow by himself in complete silence. He'd spent the last month and more wishing for just that, and yet now perversely found himself missing the crunch of her footsteps as she kept pace with him and seeing her breath steaming out of the corner of his eye – more than that, he was now automatically running at the mutual pace they had worked out, slightly slower than he was accustomed to. That was strange, given how much he liked his solitude, but he had other things to think about.<p>

It was strangely peaceful, actually. The students were surprisingly quiet, and he had no lessons and very little paperwork, and there wasn't much to do; he crawled into the depths of his dungeon and near enough went into hibernation, spending most of his time in bed with a book. It might be boring for anyone else, but it was absolute bliss, peace and quiet and undisturbed rest.

Even the Death Eaters were quiet at the moment. The Dark Lord might not like it, but many of his highest-placed followers had families and couldn't be absent over Christmas without betraying themselves – or so they'd said, anyway. Even the followers of evil needed holidays occasionally. And the Order were all quiet and happy now that Arthur was finally starting to recover.

Christmas itself was barely worth noting; he never received presents and didn't much care, since it meant he didn't have to reciprocate. He was rather startled to actually get a Christmas card, though, even if it wasn't much of one – just a piece of parchment with _Merry Christmas, Professor _scrawled on it – and spent quite a while staring at it. He couldn't say he was touched by the gesture, as such, but still, it was... nice. Sort of. And suspicious, too. Finally he shoved it into his desk drawer, buried underneath assorted bits of junk that had accumulated over the years, and did his best to forget about it.

The New Year was even less worthy of note; usually the staff had a party, which he was often forced to attend, but with Umbridge around nobody was in the mood to celebrate, and Severus spent it drinking alone and wondering vaguely if the new year was going to be the last of his life.

* * *

><p>Severus wasn't pleased to be woken up before dawn on his thirty-sixth birthday. He got barely any sleep these days as it was, and he was still on holiday and would have liked the chance to lie in for once in lieu of an actual birthday treat. Scratching his unshaven jaw, he limped slowly to the door and let Dumbledore in, glaring at his employer through bloodshot eyes. "This had better be important, or I'm going to hex you," he growled.<p>

"Good morning to you too, Severus," the Headmaster replied as cheerfully as ever, sweeping past him. "How are you?"

"Tired. Annoyed." _In pain. _"Wishing you would bugger off."

"The same as usual, then. I'm delighted to hear it." The old man twinkled at him for a moment before the expression faded, and Severus automatically tensed.

"What?"

"Still so paranoid, Severus?" he chided.

"It keeps me alive. What do you want, Headmaster?"

"I have a request to make." Severus doubted that. The Headmaster didn't ask, he ordered, no matter what words he used to do so. Dumbledore continued gravely, "What do you think of what happened to Arthur? I would hear your thoughts on the matter."

Suppressing a yawn, he tried to gather his thoughts, not easy at this time of the morning. "Nothing we didn't expect. Subverting our guard didn't work, so he tried force, as I warned you he might. Arthur will be fine."

"That isn't what I was referring to, and you know it. What do you make of what Harry saw?"

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He had been thinking about it – on and off, between all the other things he had to think about – for days, and he didn't like any of the theories he had come up with. The only concrete conclusion he had come to was that Potter was going to be the death of him; he was surprised his hair hadn't turned white by now – although he already had his first grey hairs, which was unbelievably depressing at his age. "Much the same as you made of it, I imagine. The connection you suspected is real, and stronger than we feared. The boy has a link to the Dark Lord's mind."

"Is he aware of it?"

"Not yet, but it is surely only a matter of time."

"And Harry?"

"Dumbledore, I never know what the boy is thinking, for the simple reason that he is seldom thinking anything at all. I doubt it. I am sure he has a dozen ideas, each more melodramatic and unlikely than the others, but I very much doubt he knows the truth. Even if he does somehow fall headlong over the right answer, he won't say anything anyway. You know that as well as I."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "We must act quickly, then, before Voldemort discovers this connection."

Severus suppressed a flinch; he did wish Dumbledore wouldn't use the name in front of him. It _hurt_. Carefully flexing and relaxing the muscles of his left forearm under the sleeve of his nightshirt to try and ease the cramp that had started, he repeated very quietly, "'_We_' must act?"

"Harry must learn Occlumency."

"Don't you dare."

"Severus..."

"No, I mean it. Don't even say it. I won't do it."

The Headmaster's voice sharpened. "You will. You must. Who else, Severus? You are the most gifted Occlumens I have ever heard of, better by far than anyone else on either side. Harry needs that talent now."

"Teach him yourself."

"I cannot."

"Why?" Severus asked with a sneer. "Too _busy_?" There was no such thing as free time for any of the Order, these days, but he was attempting two full-time jobs simultaneously – teacher and Death Eater – as well as brewing for Hogwarts and the Order, and his own private activities, and he was fast reaching the point where he was half-seriously considering trying to steal a Time-Turner just so he would have time to sleep.

"I am, indeed, very busy," Dumbledore said serenely, "but that is not the only reason. Harry is extremely angry with me at the moment, and both his own anger and Voldemort's less than stellar opinion of me mean that I do not wish to risk it."

Severus laughed hollowly. "And you think he is less angry with me, Dumbledore? We cannot stand one another, as you well know." Everyone who saw it tried to say that it was Severus' fault, but the facts were undeniable; he had hated the boy the moment he had laid eyes on him, yes, but equally, the boy had hated him in the same instant. Bizarre though it was, their antipathy had been mutual from the start... just as it had been with the father.

Dumbledore's eyes turned cold. This was the true face of the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, the side nobody else saw; there was no trace of the genial, twinkling old man now. "You are going to put aside your childish grudge, Severus, and you are going to teach Harry Potter how to Occlude his mind. Do you understand me?"

He bit his tongue for a moment, well knowing that it was futile trying to explain his _childish grudge. _As well try to explain colour to the blind. There was so much more to the story than James being a bully, but he had no wish to discuss it and there was no point in doing so anyway. "I understand, but you do not," he snapped, before forcing his voice to calmness; he needed to convince Dumbledore that he wasn't simply throwing a tantrum. "You don't understand what you're asking, Headmaster. I can't teach him this."

"Why not?" Dumbledore asked coolly with a stern expression.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to explain. "For one, I come by my Occlumency naturally and use it through instinct, not with a conscious effort. I have no idea how to teach it to anyone else; I wouldn't even know where to start. For another, Potter won't trust me until several millennia after Hell freezes over. If he doesn't trust me, I cannot freely access his mind, only by force, and if I cannot freely access his mind I cannot hope to show him what he needs to do; additionally, if he doesn't trust me, he will not believe me, and he won't do anything I ask of him. You know that's true." He hesitated over his next point, not wanting to admit it, before adding grudgingly, "And I doubt I will be able to control my temper if I am alone with him for any extended period of time. Besides," he continued quickly, "I am not convinced he will be able to learn Occlumency from anyone."

"Harry isn't stupid, Severus, no matter how many times you insist that he is."

"On this occasion, I didn't say he was, nor is that what I meant," he replied irritably, knowing that the battle was already lost. Dumbledore hadn't listened to any of his objections; the old man had no doubt heard nothing except _I don't like Potter. _"He is simply too much a Gryffindor. Occlumency isn't about reckless bravery and honesty. It's about hiding, and he isn't capable of that to save his life, no matter the stakes. It's about keeping calm, and he was never good at that even before he hit puberty at a dead run. His nature is not suited to it."

"Be that as it may, he must learn it, and you know more of it than anyone, so you must teach him. This is not a request, Severus."

"Yet you said that it was," he retorted snidely as a sense of futility and foreboding chilled him. This was going to be a disaster. He made one last attempt. "Did you hear anything I said, Dumbledore? I don't think he can learn this at all, and even if he can, he can't do so from me."

"Severus. Enough. I will hear no further arguments from you on this. Do as you are told."

_When do I ever do anything else? _Severus met the old man's eyes and said very coldly, "As you wish. I would tell you not to blame me when it all goes wrong, but we both know you will anyway regardless of what happens. Was there anything else?"

"No. Good day, Severus."

After the Headmaster had left, Severus stared dully at the door and sighed heavily before turning and slinking off to shower and shave and start the day. _Happy birthday to me..._

* * *

><p>Hermione had received another lesson in the need for a clear and accurate perspective when she and the others walked into the kitchen in Grimmauld Place to find Sirius and Snape facing off against one another with drawn wands. The cause of the argument was completely irrelevant, once Harry had explained it later – she was actually a bit envious of her friend, even if he was absolutely dreading it; Occlumency sounded really interesting, and definitely useful. What bothered her most was the look in Snape's eyes, and it was a memory that stayed with her throughout the end of the holidays and their return to Hogwarts. There had been anger there, oh yes, and enough savage hatred to confirm her theories about the two men, but under that had been something cold and calculating and very unpleasant.<p>

She remembered the Shrieking Shack, and Snape whispering, "_Give me a reason._" He wouldn't act without provocation, he did have that odd sense of honour that Phineas had told her about, but he certainly wasn't above engendering that provocation to justify his future retaliation. She needed to keep her head and be realistic, she told herself; there might be far more to Snape than the spiteful and dangerous man she and her friends had always seen, but that side of him was still very much a part of his nature and she needed to remember that. Their current peculiar association was all very well, but it didn't change who he really was.

What really confused her was the way that everyone else in the Order dismissed it as a petty schoolboy feud. It wasn't hard to see that it had gone far beyond that and that the roots were far deeper; she didn't understand why nobody else seemed to have spotted it. Even before learning the full story, even right back in third year she had seen that for whatever unknown reason, the two men truly hated one another, and even then she had seen that for Snape it was clearly very personal, whereas for Sirius it seemed more out of habit than anything else. She had been on Sirius' side over Snape at that point – she felt a bit ashamed about that now, but in her defence, Snape had been genuinely unbalanced and extremely frightening that night – but she'd still seen it, so why couldn't anyone else, particularly Dumbledore, who did know the full truth?

The question that really nagged at her over those few days was how far would Snape have gone, if they hadn't walked in on the argument? Sirius would definitely have tried to hex him, and although she wasn't sure how the two men had measured up before, after twelve years in Azkaban the Marauder couldn't hope to hold his own against someone like Snape for long. Her professor might have started the argument deliberately and might have been in full control of himself – in contrast to Sirius' automatic hot temper – but she'd bet her wand that wouldn't have lasted once magic started flying; when he truly lost his temper and his iron-hard self control finally snapped, Snape was the most terrifying person she had ever seen. It would have been bloody, but she really wasn't sure how far it would have gone. She had never seen anything to rival Snape's hatred for his former tormentor. She didn't know his limits, and that concerned her; he was truly unpredictable, and she wasn't sure she could ever completely trust him because of it.

* * *

><p>So far, Severus considered guardedly, the first Occlumency lessons hadn't been as much of a disaster as they could have been. It wasn't going to work, of course – he'd been right, Potter's mind wasn't remotely suited to it and the boy didn't have the necessary discipline – but at least he was making an effort, which might keep Dumbledore off his back. Besides, someone clearly had to teach the brat something; he'd drink Stinksap before he admitted it, but Severus was worried that Potter knew about the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries.<p>

As for what he was seeing in the boy's mind, well, that too wasn't a disaster. Oddly, Severus found himself vaguely grateful that Lupin hadn't shut up about Potter during his time as a teacher; he'd tried not to listen to most of the werewolf's babbling, but he did remember the discussion of what the boy heard when the Dementors were near him. Otherwise, he knew, he would have given in to temptation and tried to look for memories of Lily, even though Potter had barely been a year old when she'd died. As it was, he had absolutely no desire to hear her screaming, and had been very careful to avoid triggering anything too bad.

He suspected part of Dumbledore's plan had been for him to see how wretched Potter's childhood had been, in the hope that maybe he'd be a bit nicer to the boy if he saw how much he'd suffered. That wasn't going to work. Severus had already known that the brat hadn't had a nice time at home; even if the Order hadn't been watching him since infancy, he was good at spotting the children from less pleasant home environments. It didn't affect him; one, he knew Petunia Dursley would never go too far no matter her feelings, not against a child. And two, nothing he saw would ever be as bad as his own childhood had been.

In any case, he had other things on his mind right now, as his arm began to burn and he felt his heart sink. Tonight was the night the Dark Lord had planned to raid Azkaban. Either he had failed, in which case he would be insane with fury and would hex them all bloody... or he had succeeded, in which case there was going to be something of a bloodbath while everyone sorted out the new pecking order. Severus was going to have to fight to hold his place in the inner circle, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

><p>Hermione met Snape outside the dungeons as usual. This early on a January morning it was still dark, but the snow almost seemed to glow, which made it easier to see; the snow was hard packed and frozen before dawn, too, so the footing wasn't too bad if you paid attention. He was silent as ever, looking even more tired and haggard; she constantly marvelled at how he managed to pull himself together and hide his strain between their run and breakfast. The mass breakout from Azkaban had been only two days ago; he had seemed completely unaffected, but she had smelled healing potions on him quite strongly the next morning, before she'd seen the paper and understood why, and it had obviously been a rough night. Gryffindor courage or not, she wasn't brave enough to ask him about it, even though she was curious.<p>

Her original plan had been to try and get to know her enigmatic Potions master, but she had quickly realised that was folly. Snape didn't do small talk and wasn't at all bothered by the lack of conversation. Even so, she kept persevering, partly out of stubbornness and partly to keep an eye on him. In addition, the exercise was helping her; she felt stronger and was sleeping better. But it was more than that... silence with Snape seemed to have a strange quality. He had no expectations of her; he didn't require her to say or do anything. He was simply _there, _and his presence meant she didn't have to worry about anything. For an hour, she didn't have to be constantly on her guard, and she could let herself relax. These morning runs were her only moments of peace, as well as his, and she found that she was enjoying it.

Besides, very occasionally Snape did speak to her, if there was something important he needed to say. She was hoping that when he said during their warm down, "Miss Granger, wait a moment," she would find a way to ask him about Harry's Occlumency lessons, but when he had finished scrubbing his face with a handful of snow and eaten a little he gave her a rather odd look that she didn't much like and she realised she wasn't going to get the chance. "Come with me," he said finally, leading her through the labyrinth of dungeons to one of his stores. He took a large heavy jar from a shelf and handed it to her. "Do you know what this is?"

She examined it carefully; the thick orange liquid inside it looked decidedly unappetising. "No, sir."

"It's a more advanced, distilled form of Murtlap Essence."

Hermione blinked at him. "That's for cuts and skin complaints, isn't it, sir?" Why was he giving it to her?

Snape nodded slowly; he wasn't quite looking at her, which was odd. "It will help Potter's hand more than whatever you have been using."

She stared at him in complete shock. "You know about those detentions?"

"Obviously," he replied, but his heart clearly wasn't in the sarcasm, and her shock slowly began to turn to anger.

"Then why hasn't anyone done anything to stop her?" she demanded.

Normally, using that tone to Snape would lead to a painful and lingering death or at the very least losing House points and earning a detention, but he barely seemed to notice. Looking almost at her now, he replied quietly, "I haven't told anyone else, Miss Granger."

"Why not? Why haven't you done anything about it?"

"There is nothing that can be done."

"What?" She was really starting to get angry now, feeling strangely betrayed.

"Stop squawking at me and think," he snapped, still avoiding direct eye contact. "The laws put in place to protect the students, laws designed to prevent such abuse, were written by the people who sent Umbridge here in the first place. They supported her, and must continue to do so publicly regardless of what they might think of her in private; in addition, either they believe Potter to be a delusional and unstable attention-seeker or it suits them to pretend to believe it. Nobody is going to believe him – or me, given who and what I am – over her. Hogwarts cannot challenge the Minister. And do bear in mind that Lucius Malfoy still has a great deal of influence at the Ministry and is still on the school's Board of Governors."

"You should at least tell the Headmaster!"

"He may well already know. And even if he doesn't, what good would telling him do? He can't do anything, no more than I can, even though he is a more credible witness. He is being very closely watched, Miss Granger. We all are. The Ministry are just looking for the slightest excuse to get rid of him and take over the school, and then all your lessons would be as useful as your current Defence curriculum. You would learn nothing and be taken by the Death Eaters in short order."

Hermione felt cold as part of her realised that he was right. It felt wrong to realise that the teachers were just as powerless to act as the students were; she could see in Snape's dark eyes just how much he disliked the situation. For all that he constantly picked on Harry and many other students, he had never physically harmed any of them and had in fact sought to protect them from harm on several occasions; even he had limits, but Umbridge apparently did not. "So you're just going to do nothing?" she asked in a rather smaller voice.

"There is nothing I can do," he answered softly. "If I get a chance, I can perhaps take the damned quill off her, but it won't do anything more than inconvenience her for a day or two and make her angry."

"You should tell someone else..." she protested weakly once more, but she couldn't think of anyone who would be in a position to do anything about it. Nor could Snape, by the bitter sneer on his face.

"As Potter has?" he asked grimly.

"He's too stubborn. I think he thinks he's proving something by not asking for help."

"Partly, but partly he is more of a realist than you are, Miss Granger. Why bother asking for help when you know you will not receive any? Why give your tormentor the satisfaction of knowing that they are bothering you and that you can do nothing about it, that they are untouchable?" His voice was softer now and his eyes were looking at something far beyond the store room where they stood.

"It shouldn't be like this."

"No," he agreed very quietly, "it shouldn't. But it is, and we must do the best we can with the cards we have been dealt..." He paused, and looked her in the eyes with an intent expression, the one he got when what he was saying was important. "As long as the Ministry are free to tell their stories unopposed, as long as there is no alternative viewpoint available, as long as their public image is better than ours, we cannot act against them."

Hermione stared back at him, thinking about this, and after a moment he looked away. Biting her lip, she considered his words, and very slowly the seed of an idea stirred in the back of her mind. "What are you trying to get me to do, sir?"

"Me?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised – she didn't believe his tone for a second. "Why, absolutely nothing, Miss Granger. If as a result of talking to me you are learning to think in different ways, that's none of my doing."

Not remotely convinced, she looked at him. "Is this your way of turning me into a Slytherin?"

Snape barked a laugh that held absolutely no humour. "God, no; what a terrible thought. You'd be an abysmal Slytherin. If you'd been Sorted into my house you wouldn't have survived the first week. Now get moving, we're behind schedule today and breakfast is in twenty minutes."

Glancing at her watch, she yelped in dismay, grabbing the jar of potion and bolting. He stared after her for a long moment with a troubled expression before slowly turning away, looking rather grim.

* * *

><p>It had taken everything Severus had not to burst out laughing when Minerva handed him a copy of the <em>Quibbler <em>in the staff room. He was going to have to find a way to give Granger some House points subtly; she certainly hadn't wasted any time. He'd known she had some kind of hold over that vile journalist, since nothing else could have ended last year's smear campaign, but he'd never thought she could do this. Even in this magazine, Skeeter had a certain reputation in the media, and although most of her stories were rubbish she would peculiarly add some credibility to the interview.

His amusement died when he actually read the article, though. "Damn."

"What?" she asked quietly.

"I didn't imagine he'd go this far. I'm going to be in a lot of trouble at the next meeting for not stopping him. He's named the full second circle and most of the inner."

"How were you supposed to stop him? You couldn't have known he would do this."

_Granger's too smart for her own good and knows how to take a hint. _His stirring seemed less funny now, although in hindsight he should have anticipated this. "It's my job to know," he replied absently, looking at the magazine pensively. The next Summons would probably be tonight, and it would be very bad. But... damnit, it was worth it, he decided suddenly. He'd rather drink molten sewage than admit it, but these children were brave, and he actually didn't much mind getting hurt for them.

It was definitely time to change the subject, before he vomited because of his own inner monologue. "How has everyone else taken this little journalistic masterpiece?"

"Be glad you missed it. You'd have been disgusted."

"Oh, Merlin. Were there tears?"

"Yes." The two of them exchanged wry glances. "It's only to be expected," Minerva continued softly. "They didn't know the full story. We'd heard it already, but nobody else had." She looked smug. "Potter's going to find a lot of House points coming his way this week."

"I'll have to increase my efforts at balance, then, won't I," he replied tartly, but he didn't really mind that either to be honest. The boy deserved _some _sort of reward just for seriously annoying Umbridge, and it wasn't as if the stupid House Cup was terribly high on his list of priorities any more. Besides, it meant he didn't have to find a way to reward Granger. "What does Dumbledore think?" he asked suddenly.

His colleague frowned. "I'm not sure. He was pleased and proud of Harry's bravery, but at the same time I think he would prefer if it hadn't happened. The Ministry are going to be worse than ever. Most of our members are being followed now, and life here is going to be more difficult..."

"I wonder what it will be like to have a difficult life," Severus replied sarcastically.

She snorted inelegantly. "That's true, but you know what I mean."

He nodded. "She'll increase her efforts to discover the DA, she'll work on further destabilising Dumbledore..." He frowned, thinking about it, then sighed. "Tell him to do whatever he had planned for Divination. I'll bet my wand arm that she'll sack Trelawney within a month, and maybe Hagrid too."

"You think so?"

"Yes. How do you weaken anyone's position? Take away their allies. Most of the teachers are too good, she can't touch most of us without reason, but those two have no chance. And make another attempt to talk sense into Potter; she's really going to be after his blood now." _She already was. I don't want to imagine what she'll try next. _Umbridge didn't have a clue how to control Potter, any more than the Dark Lord or Dumbledore knew how to control Severus himself, but she could do a frightening amount of damage in the attempt, and a woman capable of using a Blood Quill as a method of torture against a child was capable of just about anything.

He tapped the magazine with a finger. "This was a good idea. It's made the true story accessible to all of wizarding Britain. The general public are suddenly far less vulnerable. But it's going to make things very difficult here. We're going to have to tread carefully."

"It's worth the price."

"Gryffindors," he growled insincerely, rolling his eyes.

* * *

><p>Hermione had only realised on reading the full interview in print just what it would mean. Malfoy's fury at seeing his father named had driven home to her that the other Death Eaters were going to be furious as well, and it was likely that the one to pay for it would be the Death Eater closest to Harry, the one who hadn't stopped him. That was why she was huddled under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, wrapped in Warming Charms and watching the Hogwarts gates at half past one in the morning. The Cloak was waterproof, at least; it was sleeting, a miserable half-frozen rain mixed with wet snow. Realising that she would show up as an inexplicable hole in the weather, she was standing under a tree, occasionally pacing back and forth a bit to keep warm and stay awake.<p>

The sharp _crack _of Apparition nearly made her scream, scaring her half to death. She had retrieved her old Omnioculars and switched them to night vision mode, and she could clearly see the dark figure who had appeared outside the gates, watching as he sank into a crouch and remained motionless for a few moments before slowly and stiffly getting to his feet. She watched him unhook his mask and shrug out of his outer robe, and Snape let himself through the gate, shrinking both items and putting them inside his coat. To her surprise, he then pulled a rather battered packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket and lit up before closing the gate; she had no idea he smoked. In fact, she didn't know any wizard that smoked, and certainly not Muggle cigarettes – especially Lucky Strikes; she hadn't realised they even still made those. Her grandfather had smoked them when she was very young.

He was moving slowly and gingerly, and she could see him shaking with more than the cold as he lit his wand to light the path and limped past her. She could hear his breathing, ragged and pained, as she began to follow him, trying as hard as she could to match her steps to his and to avoid treading on anything that would make a noise. At least she couldn't smell or see blood, but he was obviously in a great deal of pain, and the trek up the drive took a long time.

As the castle came into view, Snape drew a rattling breath and said almost conversationally, "Miss Granger, can you give me a reason why I should not put you in detention for the rest of the year?"

After recovering from her near-miss with cardiac arrest, Hermione wondered ruefully why she had ever thought that she would possibly get away with this. Snape was the most intelligent person she had ever met, and if he wasn't highly skilled in observation he would have been killed years ago. Furiously she debated about what to do. He didn't sound angry, as such, but he was slurring his words a little and clearly hurting and wouldn't have much patience.

"Well?"

She sighed and admitted defeat, trying hard to sound cheerfully innocent without being irritating. "Because then you'd have to endure my presence more often?"

He rasped a pained laugh, shivering. "There is that, I suppose. Why are you out here?"

"I was waiting for you, sir."

"I guessed as much. Why?"

Hermione stared at him, glad of the Cloak's concealment. He sounded as though he genuinely didn't know the answer, or he would have mocked her Gryffindor emotions by now; he really didn't know that she worried about him. _That's... really quite sad. _"I wanted to make sure you weren't too badly hurt because of what Harry said, sir."

He coughed painfully and sighed. "That was the excuse this time, but if it hadn't been that, it would have been something else. Neither of you are to blame. And –"

"Don't you dare tell me it's not as bad as it looks. You can barely stand."

Snape stopped walking. "I beg your pardon?" he asked coldly.

Suddenly very relieved to be invisible, Hermione swallowed. "Sorry, sir. I only meant..."

"Miss Granger," he said quietly with a clear note of warning in his voice, "you are not my mother, or my nursemaid, or my Healer, or my master. Unless the Healer in charge of your apprenticeship calls you, my medical state is absolutely none of your concern. Do I make myself clear?"

_Are all men this stubborn? _"Yes, sir," she agreed meekly.

"Good. Get to bed before Filch catches you. Do not do this again."

"Yes, sir. Sir?"

"What?"

"How did you know I was there?"

He snorted, flicking his spent cigarette into the slush and treading on it. "I knew someone was watching me the moment I stepped through the gates. The list of people within Hogwarts who would bother to do so is extremely short; the list of those who would do so without revealing themselves is even shorter. And I could hear you just well enough to judge your size. Now go away."

"Are you sure you're all right, sir? I could go to Madam Pomfrey..."

"She fusses over me enough without your help. It isn't bad enough to require anyone else to treat it. I can deal with it. Now go away, Miss Granger. If you're not out of earshot within ten seconds I will put you in detention for the rest of the year, no matter the cost to me."

* * *

><p>For once, Severus actually had an evening to himself, and he was looking forward to it. No detentions, no Occlumency lessons – that was a relief; he was still disturbed that Potter had been able to see any of his memories, even though those ones had been relatively harmless – no Death Eater meeting, no staff meeting, and he'd even caught up on all his paperwork. He couldn't recall the last time he'd had a few hours of genuine leisure time. There were plenty of things he <em>could <em>be doing, but nothing was actually urgent, and he stretched lazily before dropping into his battered old armchair with a contented sigh. He intended to read for a few blissfully uninterrupted hours and then get an early night and hopefully enjoy a decent stretch of undisturbed sleep for once.

Despite his unusually content mood, however, he was still a cynic at heart, and he wasn't really very surprised when someone knocked on the door to his quarters less than half an hour later. It was so absolutely typical. Suppressing a sigh, he considered simply pretending that he wasn't there, but a moment's concentration on his wards told him that it was the bloody High Inquisitor – unless she'd given herself a new title – and she wouldn't give up but would annoy him all evening unless he answered the door. Hauling himself rather resentfully to his feet, he shrugged into his robe again and slunk across the room. "Good evening, Dolores," he said coolly. "To what do I owe this... honour?"

"Severus," she acknowledged briskly, sweeping past him – at least, it would have been a sweep, had she not been more than a head shorter than he was.

"Please, do come in," he told her sarcastically, irritably shutting the door a little more firmly than was strictly necessary. "Make yourself at home."

Ignoring this – he doubted that she had even noticed the jibe – she turned to face him and said bluntly, "I need Veritaserum."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" _What the hell are you planning now, you crazy bitch?_ "Is the Ministry sanctioning using illegal drugs on the students now? I have spent many years wishing for the chance to do so, admittedly..." Although even he would never go this far. He'd threatened Potter with the truth potion only last year, but he'd never actually intended to use it, tempting though it was. He also didn't need to resort to such pitiful methods.

"The Minister has given me the authority to act as I see fit," she snapped at him, stung. "Are you refusing to help?"

_I wish. _"Not at all, Dolores," he replied smoothly. "I simply like to know what my potions are going to be used for when I receive such gracious requests as yours. I assume this means you still haven't discovered whether Potter is up to anything?" _Because you're a stupid short-sighted cow who knows nothing about children? _He gave her a look of bland innocence that wouldn't have fooled a toddler; perversely, he was almost proud of the so-called _DA_, and not least because he was partly responsible for its creation. Only almost, though, and he'd certainly never admit it.

Her pouchy face flushed unpleasantly with almost sulky anger. "No," she admitted grudgingly. "Enough of this, Severus. Do you have the potion?"

Fun though winding her up was, his fire-warmed chair and his book were calling to him and his free evening was dwindling alarmingly. "Of course. A moment."

He stepped around her and left the room, not worried about leaving her there; she had already searched his rooms, although she thought he was ignorant of that fact. Entering his private stores, he found the Veritaserum and decanted a small amount into a bottle, holding it up and regarding it with a certain amount of malice before bringing it to his mouth and spitting in it. There were much nicer and less childish ways to render it useless, of course, and he could have simply used tap water for all Umbridge would notice, but he had never claimed to be nice – or mature, for that matter. Placing his thumb over the mouth of the bottle, he shook it briskly to dissolve the saliva and examined it closely, noting the change in the very faint oily shimmer. Satisfied that it wouldn't work, he corked the bottle and returned to his living room.

"Here you are, Dolores. There is enough here to interrogate half the school if you wish; the needed dose is only three drops."

She all but snatched the bottle from him with distasteful eagerness and clearly wasn't listening. Severus shrugged philosophically; overdosing on Veritaserum wasn't going to do Potter much harm. At worst, he would have a headache for a couple of days and maybe a little nausea. Mercifully he wasn't going to be babbling endlessly, at least; he'd seen enough inside the boy's head to know he didn't want to listen to it. And he could feel faintly proud of himself for resisting the urge to add something to the potion that would have made precious Potter very ill indeed; it had been extremely tempting.

"You're sure this will work?" Umbridge asked, blinking rapidly and licking her lips as she studied the bottle.

His lip curled as he gave her a flat look. "I was under the impression that, having assessed most of my classes over the past few months, you were convinced of my competence," he said icily. Typically, she ignored this; she probably hadn't even realised that she had just insulted him again.

"The Minister thanks you for your co-operation," she told him grandly as she left.

Severus gave the door a withering look as he closed it behind her. "The Minister can go and bugger himself with a pointy stick with nails in it," he informed the now empty room, returning to his book as peace settled on the dungeons once more.

* * *

><p>Minerva turned to him at breakfast the next morning with a raised eyebrow. "Have you heard the latest, Severus?"<p>

"If you mean the Veritaserum, yes. She asked me for it last night," he replied around a mouthful of toast.

His colleague frowned at him. "I wasn't referring to that, no... are there no limits to that woman's madness?"

"I hope so," he muttered, swallowing. "What _were _you referring to, then?"

"The so-called Inquisitorial Squad." Minerva regarded him expectantly, clearly assuming that this would mean something to him. Firmly dragging his mind away from Monty Python again – Umbridge really should use different terminology if she wanted to be taken seriously – he shrugged and gave her a blank look, and she elaborated. "Certain helpful students are to be given powers above the prefects and even beyond those of the Head Boy and Girl. In essence, she has created a playground gang."

"Joy," he replied sourly, picking up his coffee before abruptly putting the cup down again as he realised what Minerva was saying. "Oh, hell. It's Draco, isn't it."

She nodded grimly. "_All_ the Slytherin fifth years have joined her, and possibly some of the others."

"Damnit." He rubbed his eyes tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I could swing for that boy sometimes."

"I take it you didn't know, then?"

"No, I didn't," he replied wearily, turning his head to meet her eyes. "Ever since half their fathers told them that the Dark Lord would shortly be returning, they stopped listening to me. In the past year I've lost all the ground I've gained with Slytherin House in the last decade. There is very little, if anything, I can do to stop them now."

He continued to eat his breakfast in silence, without appetite, gloomily watching his students. He had done his best by his House, and for years Slytherin had enjoyed an almost unprecedented ascendancy, but... ever since Potter had come to Hogwarts, he'd started to lose them. Since the Cup had been unjustly snatched from them so humiliatingly at the end of the boy's first year, Slytherin had begun to lose faith in him, as Dumbledore's bias grew more obvious and the house of the snake suffered for it. Severus knew now that there was no chance of saving the older students. The current seventh years would have the sense to keep out of it, but some of the sixth years were probably lost, and all the fifth years would wear the Mark before the ink on their graduation certificates had time to dry.

If he had more time, he might be able to keep his influence on the younger students, but... sadly, Slytherin House was no longer his first priority, and that meant they were no longer _anyone's _first priority, because their Head of House had always been the only one who gave a damn. Worse, a lot of them knew it. This was what nobody had ever understood, the reason why so many Slytherins went bad. For every one who turned because they wanted power and enjoyed the darkness, there were two who turned because they wanted revenge for all the slights and petty torments or because – like him – they hadn't had anywhere else to go and nobody else had wanted them.

Sighing, he looked away, knowing that he too was failing them. At least he was trying, which was more than could be said for anyone else.

* * *

><p><em>I did want to give you a full Death Eater meeting after the Azkaban breakout, but I couldn't get it to sound right. More fun lies ahead...<em>**  
><strong>


	9. Chapter 9

_Pay attention in this chapter, a lot of important things happen.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Some things are too hot to touch<br>The human mind can only stand so much  
>You can't win with a losing hand."<strong>  
>– Bob Dylan, 'Things Have Changed'.<p>

* * *

><p>The world started spinning backwards in April, or that was what it felt like. Severus had been out for the evening; there had been a Death Eater meeting, and afterwards he'd gone home to see if his house was still standing and had a drink or several in front of his cheap and unreliable television just to gain a little distance from the wizarding world and its problems for a while. He came back to Hogwarts slightly less than half drunk and feeling almost content, his thoughts pleasantly remote and distant without being fuzzy.<p>

He found Hermione Granger waiting for him, not even hidden by Potter's toy, and glared at her as a little of the pleasant numbness wore off. About to ask what the hell she thought she was doing, he paused and frowned, noticing her expression; unless he was very much mistaken, she'd been crying. "Miss Granger, you had better have a good reason for this," he told her quietly, leaning against the gate.

She looked at him rather blankly for a moment. "Professor Umbridge is Headmistress."

Severus stared at her, trying to make sense of this. He was sure he hadn't drunk that much; he'd only had a couple of pints, and although the beer he favoured was quite strong it certainly wasn't that strong. And it was early April, but the first had been last week, and in any case the wizarding world didn't know about April Fool's Day. "Where is Professor Dumbledore?" he asked after too long a pause, blinking slowly.

"I don't know, sir."

He continued to stare at her for a moment before sighing and drawing his wand to conjure a couple of chairs. "You'd better tell me before we go back to the castle. This sounds like it's going to be a long story."

The girl nodded and sank into one of the chairs, worrying her lower lip between her teeth the way she did when she was either nervous or thinking too hard about something. "Well, sir, you know about – about the DA...?"

"Yes," he replied simply, sitting down and absently fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket. Another time he might have smirked, might have mocked her a little – of course he knew about it – but not now, with so much at stake.

"Someone – one of the girls talked to Umbridge, I mean, Professor Umbridge –"

"Don't waste your breath giving her titles, and don't waste time calling me 'sir' every other sentence. Just tell me what happened," he ordered bluntly, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag and trying not to shiver.

She bit her lip again and did as he asked. "Someone talked to Umbridge and she called the Minister into school. A house elf warned us while we were practising and we all ran for it, but her squad were after us and Malfoy caught Harry. Fudge questioned him and – Harry wasn't very clear, but the Headmaster managed to confuse everything, and Umbridge lost her temper... Kingsley was there, and he modified the memory of the person who spoke up so that she would say only one meeting had happened, and then – then Professor Dumbledore took responsibility for the whole thing, he wouldn't let Harry take the blame, and the Minister tried to arrest him but he escaped... and now they've made Umbridge Headmistress."

Granger was trying not to cry again by the time she'd finished, and she'd barely paused for breath during the somewhat incoherent anecdote, but Severus had absorbed enough of the story to have sobered up far too quickly for his liking. "What a bloody mess," he muttered, pushing his hair back from his face and trying to think.

"I'm so sorry, sir..."

"It was hardly your fault, was it?" he asked, a touch incredulously. He was certainly no stranger to guilt, but really, there were limits. Besides, blaming Umbridge was much more fun.

"Well, I – I suggested the DA in the first place, and I... I tried to make sure nobody could betray us, but I couldn't make it so they wouldn't be able to, only so they'd be punished if they did. I..."

"Enough, Miss Granger. Stop sniffling; this wasn't your fault. Now let me think a moment. And stop biting your lip like that," he added absently, pinching the bridge of his nose and thinking. "All right. Did the Headmaster manage to say anything to Potter?"

"Only that he had to pay attention to his Occlumency lessons," she replied. "Professor McGonagall was there and she asked him where he was going to go, but he didn't say."

"He went alone?"

"Yes, sir."

Nodding slowly, he gestured to her to stand up and Vanished their chairs, starting to lead the way up the drive. "How has Umbridge reacted to all this?"

"I don't know, sir." For a moment she almost smiled, her brown eyes blazing fiercely. "Professor Dumbledore Stunned her. And the Minister. And Percy Weasley, and the Aurors. Professor McGonagall got Harry out before they woke up."

"Ha," he muttered, cheered by the thought; he wished he'd been there, if only so he could write PRICK on Fudge's forehead before the man woke up, or shave his moustache off, and as for what he could have done to the toad... "When did they announce that she was Headmistress?"

"They haven't yet, sir, but the latest Educational Decree has gone up about it already."

"And I assume that the whole school knows what has happened by now?"

"Probably, sir."

"Why are you out here?"

"Sir?"

"Don't pretend that the change of subject has confused you," he told her tartly, "because I won't believe it for a second. I have told you before not to wait for me."

"I thought you should know what had happened before you got back, sir. It's all a bit mad up there at the moment. Phineas and Dilys saw everything and they told me to wait for you."

_Typical. _He nodded slowly. "It looks as though I had better go and see what's happening, then. And you should get yourself to bed before anyone catches you; I think you and your friends have caused enough havoc for one night, don't you?" he added dryly, finishing his cigarette and Vanishing the butt.

The rebuke earned him another lip-bite, but she nodded, apparently recognising that he wasn't actually angry. "What's going to happen, sir?"

"Probably nothing pleasant," he told her, "but it will only be for another few months."

"You think so, sir? She's not the Defence teacher any more..."

"Oh, yes, she is. Her contract was for one year." He gave her an unpleasant smile. "I make it a point to never underestimate the capacity of students to cause mayhem for any teacher they dislike, Miss Granger. I'm sure your fellow pupils can persuade her that education is not her calling soon enough. And if you lot aren't in fact as annoying as I think you are, I'll assassinate her myself come the summer if I have to. We'll survive. Dumbledore irritates me a lot, but he's no fool; the day he can't outwit the Ministry is the day I take holy orders and become a monk. Now you should get to bed, while I go and speak to Professor McGonagall. And I mean it, Miss Granger – in future, don't wait at the gates for me like some loyal Labrador. I don't care if the castle has exploded or if you think I'm being disembowelled; stay where you're supposed to be for once in your life. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>He went straight to Minerva's office once Granger had scampered off, and found his colleague wide awake and working. "Honestly, woman, I was gone for three hours. I come back and there's been a coup d'état? What the hell have you been doing?" he asked lightly.<p>

"You know what's happened, I take it?" she asked tensely, apparently not in the mood for banter.

"A little bird told me. Where's he gone?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard from him yet." She scowled. "Why did he do it?"

"Did you hit your head and become stupid all of a sudden? You know why he did it. Because the alternative was to let Potter be expelled, and whilst when that day comes I'll dance a bloody jig, it's his death if it happens now. Away from Hogwarts, he'll be killed within days. Besides, this way will cause far more problems for the Ministry, because they're going to massively cock this up and look unbelievably stupid doing so and will therefore not have enough power to get in our way again." _And because of Potter's sodding Occlumency lessons, for all the good those are doing. _"It also sounds like it was quite funny," he added thoughtfully. "I'm a little sorry I missed it, but I'm sure Phineas and Dilys will give me a full report later. Complete with re-enactments and sound effects. What has she done so far to begin her reign of terror?"

Looking a little better, Minerva snorted. "Nailed her Educational Decrees to every single wall, and thrown a tantrum when she couldn't get back into Albus' office afterwards."

"He's not hiding in there, is he?" Severus asked in some amusement. "That really would be funny."

"I wish he was, Severus. You're right that she's going to make a complete mess of it –"

"That's not what I said," he interrupted mockingly.

"I was brought up better than you," she told him primly.

"True, although that's not difficult."

"Anyway, you're right that she's going to make a complete mess of it, but she can do a lot of damage between now and June and I'm not going to be able to stop it."

"Then don't. The students are more than capable of holding their own; they haven't even started yet. Pretend that you're not Deputy Headmistress, Minerva. Sit back and let them run riot for a while." He grinned viciously, already having several interesting ideas in mind. "I for one can't wait for the first staff meeting where she tries to tell us what to do. She's in for a lot of nasty shocks over the next few days; it's not going to be a learning curve so much as Dead Man's Bend. Focus on the really important things and let the rest happen; we can clean up later."

"Easy for you to say. I'm deputy leader of the Order as well, you know."

He snorted. "Dumbledore can still get to Headquarters without anyone knowing. He's still running the Order. The Hogwarts chapter of the Order pretty much just consists of you and me at the moment, and I assure you, I don't need another master – or mistress. Two is quite enough." Particularly as both of them were crushing disappointments to him.

"You're the most cynical person I've ever met, Severus. Why are you suddenly being so optimistic?"

He gave her a look. "Earlier this evening I was on my knees in front of the Dark Lord, wondering if this would be the night he killed me. Compared to what's really going on, Minerva... Dolores Umbridge is just a pouchy bag of wind. Who cares? The children are doing a pretty good job of looking after themselves – Hell, they're even educating themselves, and doing surprisingly well at it, much as I hate to admit it. The toad's won over a small handful of the few truly stupid Slytherins, but the rest of the school despise her and they are going to run rings around her. I intend to sit back and enjoy watching it, frankly."

"I suppose you're right..."

"I'm sorry, what was that? Did I hear you correctly?"

"Shut up, Severus."

"Be careful, or I might just draw up a Ministry decree of my own making it an offense for you to speak to me like that. She still likes me at the moment." He smiled unpleasantly. "That won't last."

She was starting to smile now, and it was as nasty as his own. "From now until the end of the year, what say we increase the money in the pot? We'll be able to be more creative now..."

"I'm game if you are. The others will be, as well." He smirked. "I haven't truly enjoyed my job in a very long time. This is going to be fun."

* * *

><p>Dilys called him to the infirmary before he had gone three paces; she filled in most of the gaps in Granger's story as he climbed the endless flights of stairs to the hospital wing, imitating the people involved so brilliantly that he was trying not to laugh as he entered. "Welcome to the new world, Poppy," he said rather whimsically. "What's your opinion?"<p>

"It's a disaster waiting to happen, but it's also not my problem, except for the hordes of students deliberately poisoning themselves courtesy of the Weasley twins in order to get out of Defence lessons," she told him irritably. "Even you never drove them to that extreme. Are you all right, before anything else?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. He ignored me completely tonight, which is always nice. And then I come back and find my boss has run away and it's now toad-hunting season. I'm having a wonderful time, actually."

"Typical. You're the only one. Anyway, I need your help with a student, Miss Edgecombe of Ravenclaw."

As soon as Severus saw the girl, who had mercifully been sedated, he started laughing. "Oh, that's brilliant. Ten points to Gryffindor."

"Severus!"

"I mean it. That's wonderful, it really is. It's almost as funny as the day Miss Granger turned herself into a cat, although that's still one of my best ever memories."

"You're in a really spiteful mood tonight, aren't you? Can you do anything for the poor girl?"

He shrugged. "Probably, although it would take a bit of working out, since that looks like one of Granger's own spells to me. But I'm not going to."

"What? Why not?"

He wasn't laughing now. "I don't have a lot of use for anyone who rats out their friends," he replied coolly. "Let her stay branded a sneak. It's really the least she deserves; without her big mouth we wouldn't be in this mess. Granger's too soft-hearted to have made it permanent – it'll wear off eventually."

"Severus..."

"Don't you dare," he chided her softly. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel the same."

After a long moment the nurse scowled at him. "Shut up, Severus."

"I've been hearing that a lot tonight," he noted wryly. "I'm off to bed, assuming nothing else happens before I get down there. Tomorrow the fun begins."

* * *

><p>The fun did indeed begin the very next day, at lunchtime, and very dramatically. Severus was used to explosions, working with incompetent students all day, but even by his standards this was impressive. It took a lot of force to shake the castle. He and Minerva joined the crowd fighting their way out of the hall to see what was going on, noting that Umbridge was conspicuously absent, and for a moment stopped and stared at the fireworks filling the corridors and bouncing around. It was quite pretty, he observed, fighting to keep his face impassive; he liked fireworks.<p>

"I do believe you owe me ten Galleons, Minerva," he commented.

"You've no proof the Weasleys were behind this," she protested half-heartedly.

"Apart from the fact that I can see them sniggering over there behind that tapestry?"

Sighing, she reached into a pocket of her robe. "I've only got three Galleons and a couple of Sickles on me. I'll have to owe you the rest."

"I'll be sure to remind you," he replied dryly, pocketing the coins as the rest of the staff gathered around them, making absolutely no attempt to subdue the excited students. "What on earth have you been teaching your sixth years, Filius?" he added with a smirk, glancing down at the little Charms teacher.

"I gave up teaching those boys anything years ago," Flitwick answered, trying not to grin. "They teach themselves anything that looks interesting, and get through everything else on guesswork. But this is very impressive, oh yes... in fact," he added in an undertone, "ten points to Gryffindor."

"That will replace some of the ones your Slytherins have been taking," Minerva hissed pointedly, stepping on Severus' foot and glaring at him. "You do know what Mr Malfoy has been doing, don't you?"

He sighed. "Fining Muggleborns for being Muggleborn. Yes, I know. If he does it in my hearing I can stop him, but until then there's not much I can do." If Draco dared to use that word in his hearing he was going to give the boy a thick ear. "I don't think anyone much cares about the House Cup right now, anyway."

"That's interesting," Pomona Sprout interrupted, pointing across the hall. "Our esteemed Headmistress has just discovered that if you try to Stun them, they explode."

"Why would you try to Stun a _firework?_" Severus asked somewhat incredulously. "That's a very weird reaction." _Mind you, she's a very weird woman..._

"I wonder what happens if you try other charms on them..." Filius mused, as Umbridge started to fight her way over towards them.

"I only actually have one class this afternoon, then I'm free for the rest of the day," he replied smugly. "I'll do some experimenting. It's going to take days to get rid of this lot."

"Try and pick up a few of the spent ones, if you can," his colleague requested. "I'd like to take a closer look at them."

"Why are you all just standing here watching?" Umbridge fumed as she reached them. "Do something! Get rid of them, get the children back to classes!"

The staff exchanged glances, all of them trying not to smile, before Minerva said calmly, "I don't think I can tell the children to ignore the fireworks, Dolores. Fireworks aren't related to Transfiguration, and I wouldn't want to go against one of your many Educational Decrees. Besides, my lunch is getting cold. Come on, everyone; we'll sort this mess out later."

* * *

><p>That afternoon was one of the best of Severus' life, as he gleefully wandered around the castle and basked in the chaos. None of the fireworks had made it down to the dungeons, so his single class had been uninterrupted, and now he was really enjoying himself. His colleagues had formed a united front and were all now apparently incompetent; the toad was nearly killing herself running all over the school doing battle with the fireworks, which were proving to be astonishingly resilient and were putting up quite a fight.<p>

The sparklers were rather childish, in his view – obviously the Weasleys had been brought up too nicely by their formidable mother and didn't really know how to swear properly – but the others really were wonderful. Finding a nice empty corridor with only one firecracker in it, Severus drew his wand and began very cautiously experimenting; Petrifying them had the same effect as Stunning them. Vanishing them made them multiply, he discovered happily, and promptly cast more Vanishing spells at all the new firecrackers until the corridor was so filled with them that he had to back off and find a new one to play with.

He eventually discovered that Stasis charms would stop the fireworks, and slow Cooling charms would then extinguish them; which was far less painful than whatever the toad was doing – he caught sight of her once and she looked like she was training to be a fire-fighter, dishevelled and sweating and soot-stained, and he had to duck into an empty classroom with his sleeve in his mouth so nobody would hear him snickering.

Taking advantage of her absence, he went to her quarters, and found that someone else had had the same idea; he didn't need to open the door, he could hear the crackles and hisses through the wood, and wondered in some amusement how many fireworks were merrily setting her things on fire at the moment. Whistling 'Disco Inferno' rather tunelessly between his teeth, he ambled off towards her office instead, collecting a large Catherine wheel on the way and attaching it carefully to her office door with a Permanent Sticking Charm, deliberately positioning it so close to the door handle that it would have to be extinguished and removed before the office could be entered. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork idly through half-closed eyes and smirked before making himself scarce and going in search of new toys.

It was after he had amused himself 'slaying' one of the huge dragon fireworks that he almost ran into Granger, emerging from a bathroom on the fourth floor; she caught him pocketing the downed firework, and he was immensely relieved that she hadn't seen him trying to imitate St George just moments earlier. She gave him a surprisingly evil conspiratorial smile that set her brown eyes dancing with sheer mischief, obviously enjoying this almost as much as he was, and practically bounced off back to class; he saw her draw her wand and cast a Vanishing spell at a Roman candle as she passed it and couldn't stop his grin. _Ten points to Gryffindor, damnit. _Even the knowledge that he had Occlumency with Potter later couldn't dampen his mood right now.

* * *

><p>Muttering to himself, Severus stalked back towards his office. He had no idea what had happened to Montague, but the boy was a mess and was likely to need professional help to unscramble his wits – what there were of them; he'd never been the brightest – and he would be absent for probably the rest of the term. His family were not going to be impressed. And now he had to go back and continue this farce with Potter... He had no wish to see any more teenage angst, and it was all a waste of time. And the day had been going so well earlier; Flitwick had beamed brighter than the sun when Severus had presented him with half a dozen assorted spent fireworks to play with.<p>

When he opened the door, he froze for a moment, staring at the little tableau awaiting him as his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were fixed on his Pensieve... his stupidly unguarded Pensieve... with all _those _memories in it...

The world turned red and black as something snapped, and desperate rage flooded through him.

By the time the red mist receded, Severus was alone in what remained of his office, exhausted and shaking in the aftermath. Panting for breath, he leaned against the wall and slid down it as his knees buckled, sinking down to sit on the floor and leaning back against the cool stone, closing his eyes as his head began to pound. Damn Harry bloody Potter and his complete inability to leave things alone! Damn James Potter's genes, and damn Lily for choosing James, and damn Dumbledore for putting him through this. Damn Petunia for not teaching the brat not to touch other people's property. And damn him too, for not thinking to put a ward around the fucking thing.

His shaking grew worse as he drew his legs up to his chest and hugged his knees, trembling. He'd been very, very lucky. He'd got to Potter just in time; the boy had seen the moment when everything had fallen apart, but hadn't understood what he was seeing. The memories that followed that one would have made it all too dangerously clear; it had been a very narrow escape, although that was very small consolation right now.

He had also been very lucky that he hadn't killed the brat. He hadn't felt anger like that in a very long time... not since the last time Black had got away scot-free, in fact, although Severus was in no state to appreciate the irony right now. His rage was always at its most dangerous when it was fed by fear and pain; it had been all he could do to make sure he aimed to miss when he started throwing things at the boy, and he had absolutely no idea what his magic had been doing, although he remembered losing control of it. Hell, he was lucky he hadn't accidentally manifested Fiendfyre and burned half the bloody castle down.

Still shaking, he wiped his face on his sleeve, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing and slowly calming himself down. Running his fingers into his hair, he sighed and looked around him at the devastation as his pounding heart began to slow at last, shaking his head. His throat ached, but he ignored it; he'd cried over this memory too many times for it to affect him now. It still hurt, and always would, but there wasn't much emotion left.

Well, that was that. Occlumency lessons were now officially over. Potter should consider himself lucky that he was still alive; every Potions lesson was going to be a battle for a while until Severus managed to control his temper once more. He'd known it was going to be a fiasco, but he hadn't expected a disaster on this level. Sighing again, he braced himself against the wall and hauled himself to his feet. There was nothing to be done about it now, short of Obliviating the boy, and that wasn't really necessary, fortunately. It might even do him some good to see what a pair of bastards his father and godfather had been, he told himself vindictively, but the thought brought no pleasure. Served the brat right for sticking his nose where it didn't belong, violating his privacy like that. You never knew, Potter might even feel guilty about it... miracles had been known to happen, although usually not to him.

Aware that he was still dangerously angry and on edge, he drew his wand and started methodically clearing up the mess and repairing everything he'd smashed. By the time he'd sorted his office out, his Occlumency shields would have pushed his anger back down where it belonged and he would have calmed down; then, he supposed, he ought to go and tell Dumbledore – no, wait, that wasn't necessary any more, because the old man wasn't here. That was something, at least. Hard to believe there was a good side to any of this... he started laughing, a little hysterically. He was the _last _person to find a silver lining anywhere. And the day had been so pleasant earlier... he should have known it couldn't last.

* * *

><p>Hermione strongly suspected that something had gone very wrong when Harry came back early from his latest Occlumency lesson, looking rather pale and shaken – that in itself wasn't too unusual, but he avoided meeting either her or Ron's eyes as he told them that Snape had said he had got the hang of the basics and could continue by himself. Obviously Harry was lying; when Snape wasn't there the next morning for their usual run, it confirmed her suspicion that something had happened. The man was present at breakfast, with bloodshot eyes and an almost visible aura of rage that meant even the other staff members were treading carefully around him, but except for one venomous glare he avoided even looking at the Gryffindor table.<p>

After breakfast, she collected a rather reluctant Ron and forced Harry into a corner in the corridor. "What really happened yesterday, Harry?"

"I told you –"

"Yes, I know what you told us. Harry, we've known you for five years. You've always been a terrible liar, and it's obvious you and Professor Snape have had a row of some kind. What _happened?_"

"A row." Harry laughed rather hollowly. "I guess you could say that, yeah." He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I... I saw a memory he didn't want me to see. About something my dad and Sirius did to him when they were kids."

Hermione's breath caught for a moment. The Shack? No, Harry didn't look anywhere near upset enough to have found out about that. "What did you see?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't very nice. They were just... picking on him, I guess. Anyway, Snape blew up after I'd seen it and chucked me out. I thought he was going to curse me actually. I dunno if I've ever seen him that pissed off." He shrugged. "I think lessons are over now. I definitely don't want to go back anyway."

"But Occlumency is important," Ron said rather anxiously. "You need to keep You-Know-Who out of your head. Has Snape told you enough yet?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. It'll be fine. I'm just glad I don't have to go back, to be honest. I don't want Snape poking around in my head again. Do you reckon he'll have calmed down before our next Potions lesson?"

"Is that really the most important question right now?" Hermione asked acidly.

Ron grinned at her. "Actually, yeah, because when Snape's mad at Harry, we both catch it in the neck as well, if you remember. I don't want to be ripped apart because of the Chosen One's way with people."

* * *

><p>Severus wasn't having a good time at the moment. It was taking everything he had to resist the urge to strangle Potter every time he saw the boy; he hadn't felt such anger in a long time, such outrage at the violation of his life. It didn't occur to him that Granger had ventured far deeper into his past without incurring his wrath; he was too busy fuming silently as he argued with himself about what to do now. He knew he should go back to the boy, order him to resume Occlumency lessons, and he didn't need anyone from the Order prodding and interfering and trying to shove him into doing that. He understood why it was so important, probably better than anyone else did except perhaps Dumbledore.<p>

The problem was that if he did, he'd end up seriously hurting the brat. He knew his temper and he knew his limits and he knew he could no longer trust himself. Besides, it hadn't been working anyway. He had tried to see past his emotions, he really had, but he knew he was making a complete hash of the 'lessons' and Potter's attitude wasn't helping even before the Pensieve incident. No, he couldn't continue to teach him. But he couldn't stand by and do nothing, either; nobody else knew Occlumency as well as he did, the Headmaster had been right about that much.

So, that meant he had to try and find another way...

* * *

><p>Over the start of the Easter holidays, the situation did not improve. Ron had reported worriedly to Hermione that Harry was still having weird dreams and muttering in his sleep; clearly what little he'd managed to pick up about Occlumency wasn't enough. Snape continued to exist in a state of poorly-restrained rage, all but vibrating with it every time he saw Harry. Even when she saw him alone during their morning runs, he was silent and tense and even less inclined to talk than he usually was.<p>

One morning after their warm-down stretches, Hermione was heading inside, preoccupied with thoughts of a shower, when Snape finally broke his silence. "Miss Granger."

She turned to look at him curiously; he usually never said a word to her during this time, although occasionally she managed to coax a 'good morning' out of him. "Yes, sir?"

It was still odd seeing Snape like this, slightly flushed and sweating and still a little breathless, especially since he usually didn't shave before they went running. Odd or not, though, she could still tell that he wasn't particularly happy about whatever he was going to say. "How much does Potter still listen to you?"

Hermione blinked at him. "I don't understand the question, sir."

"When you were younger he accepted that you know more than he does and relied on you for advice. Has his pride taken him beyond that point unless he wants help with his homework?"

She frowned, thinking about it. He occasionally asked her for advice about girls, but somehow she didn't think that was what Snape meant. "I suppose he still listens to me, sir, but it depends on what the subject is, really..."

Snape sighed, wiping his face on his sleeve before looking directly at her for the first time. Not that it helped, since his black eyes were as unreadable as always. "If I were to teach you Occlumency," he said slowly, "could you nag Potter into letting you teach him, if you claimed that you had learned it on your own to help him?"

That made her stare at him, at least until he scowled at her. Looking away, she thought about it, trying not to wonder why he was even asking and just thinking about the question. "If I approached him in the right way, yes, I think I could," she said finally. "But I'm sure I won't be as good a teacher as you, sir – can't you –"

"No," he said curtly, cutting her off as his eyes hardened. "I will not teach him again. Did he tell you what happened?"

"...Sort of, sir. He said he had seen a memory you didn't want him to see, involving you, his father and Sirius, and that you threw him out afterwards."

Snape's thin lips twisted into a cold and unpleasant crooked smile that held no humour whatsoever, confirming her suspicions that Harry hadn't told her everything; his eyes were hard and angry. "'Sort of', indeed... It is close enough to the truth that it will do as an explanation. In any case, it wasn't working even before that. I cannot teach him what he needs to know, and he cannot learn it from me. Cannot, not will not, in both instances. Are you willing to act as an intermediary?"

"Yes, sir." She hesitated, before admitting, "...I was considering trying to learn anyway."

He snorted. "I'm not even surprised. What have you read on the subject so far?"

"Nothing. There's nothing about it in the library. I was going to ask at Flourish & Blott's on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Don't bother. I will give you what you need."

"You didn't give Harry anything to read," she said before she could stop herself.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Would he have bothered to read it if I had?"

Hermione bit her lip, before sighing and replying honestly, "Well, he'd have skimmed it in case you asked him for a summary."

He snorted again. "Precisely my point, Miss Granger. Come to my office after dinner this evening, and we will begin."

* * *

><p>Hermione had to admit that she was nervous as she tapped on his office door. What little Harry had said about his lessons didn't fill her with confidence now; he had said it hurt, and she didn't really want Snape – or anyone – poking around in her head.<p>

"Enter."

She let herself in and closed the door behind her, feeling an immediate faint tingle as Snape warded the room to ensure that they wouldn't be disturbed. "Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, Miss Granger." He laid aside his work and sat back, gesturing towards the chair on the other side of his desk. "Sit." He raised an eyebrow, studying her face. "And stop looking so worried. I'm not going to eat you." Smiling a little sheepishly, she sat opposite him, and he continued, "Your lessons will not be like Potter's. The situation is different. What do you know about Occlumency?"

"Not much, sir, beyond what you've told Harry. It's a way of concealing memories and emotions from a Legilimens; it lets you lie without being caught and hide secrets. Madam Pomfrey told me once that she thinks it can help block pain, as well."

Snape nodded thoughtfully. "It can, yes. We have an advantage, Miss Granger – as you are a widely read Muggleborn, I can use analogies that you will understand. Occlumency is much like meditation. It is called Occlumency because most people only use it to Occlude their minds; most people believe that is all it does. I don't like the name. It isn't accurate. What people call Occlumency is in fact a form of yoga. Put simply, it is mental discipline, and if done properly allows complete control of not only the mind and the psyche but of the body as well."

This sounded interesting. Hermione hadn't been thinking beyond keeping Voldemort out of Harry's head, but already her mind was racing through the possibilities. It must have shown on her face, because suddenly Snape smirked at her. "Do please attempt to restrain yourself, Miss Granger. There is far more to Occlumency than I can possibly teach you; we are pressed for time and it would take years. I can teach you the basics and give you the principles that may allow you to discover the rest for yourself, if you wish, but here and now we are chiefly concerned with shielding the mind. The key is visualisation and concentration; here, again, we have an advantage, since I believe that you are a visual learner?"

She nodded slowly; when she remembered things, she did so by picturing her notes, or the book, or whatever the source of the knowledge was, although how Snape knew that about her was anyone's guess. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You should pick this up fairly quickly. How you manage to teach it to Potter, since he is not, is not my concern," he added dispassionately, truly not seeming to care. "So, let us begin. There are many different ways of organising and guarding one's mind against invasion; every culture on Earth has some form of yoga. Some concentrate all their energy on imagining solid shields, usually brick or stone walls; this does work very well against casual attacks, and may well prove to be Potter's best option, but it is flawed and can be shattered if hit in the right way. Others prefer to foil attempts at examining their thoughts by practising a kind of organised chaos, thinking 'loudly' of random numbers or shoals of fish or swarms of insects or flashes of colour to distract the attacker; this requires a great deal of concentration and is very tiring, and faltering for even a fraction of a second always proves fatal. A few build very detailed, very complex mental structures and construct a kind of maze within their minds, but that requires many years of gruelling work. I prefer a different method that combines elements of all these practices and allows more flexibility, hiding some things and revealing others as I choose, giving me more options. Before I tell you anything more, I wish to show you what I mean; some things cannot be explained as well as they can be experienced. For now, use your wand, although later you will not need it. I wish you to try Legilimency on me."

"...Sir?" she asked faintly, certain that she must have misheard him. He couldn't possibly have meant that.

He snorted softly and sneered faintly at her. "You won't see anything. You will only enter my mind at all because I will allow you to – it will be days yet before you could enter even a totally unprotected mind, and I very much doubt you will ever be capable of breaching my defences. I simply wish to show you something of how I protect myself. You know the spell?"

"Yes, sir, but..."

"Then begin." He settled more comfortably in his chair and looked at her calmly. Taking a breath and swallowing further useless protests, Hermione found her wand and hesitantly met his eyes, the first time she had ever done so for more than a few seconds at a time when that black-eyed stare wasn't filled with raw unfocused agony.

"_Legilimens,_" she whispered nervously, and the world spun around her as she fell into the dark depths of his eyes.

There was nothing but blackness. It felt as if she hung suspended in space, unable to see or hear anything at all, and it was utterly terrifying. The panic that threatened to overwhelm her lasted only a few moments; there was something there, a sense of... something. Snape had been right that some things couldn't be explained; she didn't have words for this, but something was supporting her in the blackness. It took her a few moments to recognise the sensation; not space, but water. His mind was a dark, quiet ocean; she could feel currents swirling around her and the endless depths beneath her. There _was _sound, too, she realised slowly, a faint noise somewhere between the distant sounds of surf and the rhythm of human breathing. And sight had come back, too; there was as much light here as there would be under the sea at night, the absolute blackness becoming a very deep midnight blue.

_Wow._ This was... well, surreal, yes, but it was also absolutely fascinating and complex and...

Very faintly, as though from a great distance, she heard soft laughter, so quiet that she wasn't sure if she had heard it at all or simply felt it. Snape's amusement was a ripple in the water around her, and the mortified realisation that he knew that she was thinking how cool this was proved to be enough to break the connection.

Looking at him, she realised she could see the same faint amusement in his eyes now, although his face was as expressionless as ever. "Could you... sense what I was thinking, sir?" she asked uncertainly.

"Not your thoughts, no, but your emotions," he replied, one side of his mouth curving into a faint half-smile. "As disparate as you are from your fellows, Miss Granger, in some ways you are still _very _much a Gryffindor. You are more introspective than most of your House, it is true, but you still shout your every emotion to the world, albeit not verbally. Your feelings have always been painted across your face, and your mind all but screams everything you feel. You have no defences at all; had I looked, I could have found your conscious thoughts, and your unconscious thoughts, and anything else I chose."

Hermione could feel her face heating and knew she must be blushing, which was very annoying because it only confirmed everything he had just said about her being unable to hide her emotions. Staring at her lap, she twisted her fingers together around her wand uncomfortably.

Snape leaned forward a little, his voice softening fractionally. "Miss Granger, relax. During these first sessions, I give you my word that I will not attempt to read anything from you. When we reach that point, I will tell you in advance, and I will teach you how to use a Pensieve to remove any memories you do not wish me to see. I assure you, I do not particularly want to probe the depths of your subconscious any more than you want me to do so. I may well see things by accident, but I will not mention them to you or to anyone else."

A little tension eased away. Not much, but a little. "Thank you, sir."

In a rather different tone, Snape commented, "You do realise you don't have to call me 'sir' every single sentence? I won't bite your head off if you miss one, you know." He still sounded amused, and the half-smile was back when she looked at him.

Venturing a smile in return, she shrugged. "It's habit by now, I think. _Sir_," she added deliberately.

He snorted softly, the half-smile increasing fractionally. "Back to business, then. What did you sense?"

She told him about the ocean, trying to describe it as well as she could, and when she was done he nodded in what seemed to be faint approval. "Yes. I use water as my visualisation, but it doesn't have to be that. It doesn't have to be anything natural, or anything specific at all. It is different for everyone. You will need to find the method that works best for you; the simpler, the better, or certainly the easier. That will be your first task."

"Yes, sir. How does the water help you hide things?"

His mouth twisted in a faint grimace. "Words cannot express it very clearly. Later, I will show you, and you will understand more, but for now let me simply say that anything I do not wish to be seen... sinks deeper into the water when someone views it. One reason I use water is that the analogies help me to visualise; things I must keep hidden sink without trace, and things I wish to be glossed over merely go deep enough to become blurred as other things drift into view instead. You must find your own path, but there is no need to hurry. This will help protect you if you ever need it, but it won't help Potter, which is what we are here to do."

Clearing his throat, he sat back, his voice becoming brisker and more businesslike. "I realise I am asking you to stop the sun, but you need to teach him to concentrate. He is a very long way from being able to visualise any sort of shield, let alone to do so consistently and strongly, and you and Weasley are not the only people to have noticed his increasing problems with anger. The first thing I will be teaching you is meditation, and that is the first thing you must teach him. He needs to stay calm and keep his mind clear before he can learn anything else, and we do not have time to wait for him to grow up."

"Sir," she began hesitantly, "may I ask a question?"

"In your case, Miss Granger, I feel you might explode if I didn't let you ask questions," he replied sarcastically, his smile fading. "This is not a usual lesson. Ask."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione gathered her nerve. "Why... why didn't you teach Harry like this?" she asked quietly. From the way Harry had described it, Snape had simply told him to defend himself and then attacked him mentally, without any attempt at explaining what he was supposed to do.

Snape was silent for some time, no longer looking at her, before exhaling slowly. "Because he is Harry Potter," he said finally. He gave her no other explanation, and she didn't dare ask just what he meant by his answer.

* * *

><p><em>God, I adore writing about Occlumency. It's just so much fun!<em>**  
><strong>


	10. Chapter 10

_A bit of angst and then a lot more Occlumency.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm."<strong>  
>– Steven Wright.<p>

* * *

><p>With her head full of Occlumency, Hermione went to the infirmary a couple of evenings later at Dilys' request and settled in Madam Pomfrey's office with a cup of tea as the mediwitch stacked a couple of books and folders on the desk beside them. "Well, Hermione, I think it's time you saw the whole truth," she said quietly. "This information does not leave this room, do you understand?"<p>

"Of course."

"All right, then. This is the standard staff record sheet, just so you can see what I do – it's far less detailed than the student one, as you can see. I only normally do a full health check once, when the new staff member first starts work, and that might well be the only time I see them professionally. Most of the records are near enough empty, except perhaps for the occasional note about Pepper-Up potion during the season for colds and sniffles. Some subjects are more complicated – the Care of Magical Creatures teacher usually ends up here every so often, although Hagrid is capable of treating himself most of the time, and Professor Snape's predecessor occasionally showed up with a mild burn or a rash from some ingredient or other, and obviously I tend to see the annual Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at the end of the year after whichever strange accident ends their career with us. Are you with me so far?"

She nodded. "I assume Professor Snape doesn't come to you for Potions accidents?" she asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice and failing.

"Actually, he did once," Dilys told her from the wall. "A student a few years ago was even worse than young Mr Longbottom seems to be and caused a rather spectacular meltdown. Severus only came up here because both hands were too badly burned to allow him to administer the treatment himself, admittedly, but he did."

Madam Pomfrey nodded with a faint smile and picked up a slim folder from the stack on the desk. "So, this is Professor Snape's official staff record."

Hermione glanced at it. That initial health check was very similar to the ones from his student days – unsurprisingly, since he'd still been very young; he was underweight and stressed and withdrawn. "Weren't there more signs?" she asked.

"Yes, but I missed them. You've seen my usual health scans, Hermione; I don't perform detailed in-depth examinations unless I think they're necessary. Besides, much as I hate to admit it now, I simply didn't want to know. We all knew or at least strongly suspected that Professor Snape was a Death Eater; the Headmaster insisted calmly that he could be trusted near the children, but we didn't really believe it. I was very disappointed in Professor Snape at the time and wanted to see as little of him as possible, partly because I was disgusted by what he had become and partly because I felt guilty that we had driven him to it."

Nodding slowly, Hermione looked back at the record. There were a couple of requests for Dreamless Sleep; presumably he had run out of his own supply, since he was more than capable of brewing it himself. A brief note when he had obtained his Mastery that he would now be supplying most of the hospital stores. One or two accidents that he had helped with treating – including her Polyjuice mishap, she noted uncomfortably, as well as the Petrification. The single incident Dilys had mentioned. And that was it.

Madam Pomfrey tugged a considerably thicker book from the stack and let it thump down onto the desk. "And this is the _unofficial _record," she said grimly, "up until a few months after the end of the first war."

Hermione stared at it. "I see..."

"No, you don't," the nurse said softly. "Not yet. That's why you're here today. This isn't a record so much as a diary of my observations; you won't find many strictly medical findings except in places where I had to make a note of blood pressure or something. Nobody has ever seen this. And it's not the full story. Professor Snape never told me any more than he absolutely had to, and I'm sure I don't know the worst of it, and some things I didn't dare write down. I advise you to just skim-read, Hermione... you don't want to read every single detail. Remember before you start that this all happened many years ago and ended not long after you were born."

Swallowing, she pulled the book towards her and started to read.

* * *

><p>The account had never been intended for anyone else to read, and really was more of a diary of the nurse's thoughts and conclusions; it dealt with her feelings at the time as much as it covered what had happened to Snape. The first entry in it was from shortly before Christmas of Snape's first term as a teacher; Dumbledore had woken Madam Pomfrey and called her down to the Potions master's quarters in the dungeons. There were no details on what had been wrong, but Snape had been covered in blood and in too much pain to speak, although that didn't stop him from twisting away from her hands and trying to avoid her touching him and he had refused to look at her or Dumbledore. That incident had been followed by a long talk with the Headmaster about Snape's having changed sides.<p>

Over the next few months Madam Pomfrey had learned more than she had ever wanted to know about the Cruciatus curse, as well as various nasty little spells that were used quite frequently. Snape had apparently undergone pretty much every punishment anyone could imagine, from being whipped bloody to being burned to having bones broken or simply being beaten up. He had accumulated internal injuries at a quite frightening rate and the long-term effects of stress had started to show as he continued to lose weight, began to have trouble sleeping and started to develop the first stomach ulcer. His nerves, his circulation and his joints began to suffer from the continual exposure to the Cruciatus and his immune system weakened quickly, leaving him more or less constantly ill.

Even back then, barely out of his teens, Snape had hated needing help. There was nothing of the slightly awkward, almost shy politeness he had shown towards the mediwitch as a student; he ignored her as much as possible, spoke in monosyllables, flinched whenever she touched him and did his best to avoid eye contact at all times. Every time she saw him, there were signs of other injuries he was treating himself. By the time she discovered the evidence of sexual assault, it had apparently already become almost routine and Snape had refused to talk about it with horrifying indifference.

"There's nothing in here about the Dark Mark," Hermione noted quietly at one point in a slightly distant voice.

"I wasn't particularly eager to study it. He kept it hidden as much as possible."

"But doesn't it have any physical side effects? I don't know much about how it works, but I know You-Know-Who makes it hurt to Summon them. That's got to have some sort of long-term effect, having the same place constantly hurting."

The mediwitch looked somewhat ashamed. "I've truthfully never thought about it."

Nodding distractedly, Hermione kept reading. There weren't any dates recorded most of the time and it was hard to work out a time frame for this dismal story; reaching the end of the war was something of a surprise. The only reason she knew they had reached that point was that Madam Pomfrey had noted that Snape didn't seem happy; in fact, he seemed to have gone into shock, becoming even more remote and more or less robotic. The next entry had her staring at the page.

"He was _arrested?_" she asked incredulously.

Madam Pomfrey nodded grimly. "At breakfast in the Great Hall, in front of everyone. It was in late November after the end of the war. In hindsight we should have expected it, because they were rounding up everyone who was ever suspected of being a Death Eater, but I think we all thought Professor Snape would be safe. Several people in the Ministry were Order members and knew his true allegiance." Her lips thinned. "I've never quite forgiven Alastor for it. He led the team who came for him."

"Didn't the Headmaster try and stop it?"

"No," Dilys said flatly. "He said that justice needed to be seen to be done, that we couldn't afford to make an exception for Severus, that there was no way he would be sentenced so we should let the Ministry have their trial."

"It went to trial?"

"Eventually," the portrait said darkly. "After standard procedures had been followed – which means that after everything you've just read, Severus was held in Azkaban for a week and then turned over to Moody's team for several days of interrogation, before being dragged in front of the war tribunal."

"God," Hermione whispered, horrified.

The mediwitch nodded, her face shadowed. "I went to his trial. He looked very young, and very frightened, and obviously thought we were going to throw him to the Dementors now that we didn't need him any more. His reprieve was at the last possible moment, and he wasn't given any time to recover; he had to come straight back to school and get on with his job. It was the best thing for him, in hindsight – he needs to keep busy, not to be allowed to brood about things – but it did seem very cruel at the time." She tapped the book, and Hermione obediently – if reluctantly – returned to her reading.

It was obvious to her that Snape was suffering from shell shock and post-traumatic stress disorder, but she didn't think the wizarding world knew about those things. He complained of being cold all the time, although Madam Pomfrey couldn't find a physiological cause. He didn't sleep much, if at all, and came dangerously close to poisoning himself by overdosing on sleeping potions until he finally managed to stop taking Dreamless Sleep; apparently it could be highly addictive if you used it for too long, which explained why he didn't use it now. The mediwitch had asked him once what the Dementors made him experience, and the look on his face had made her very glad that he had refused to answer. He had been very nervous and jumpy and made no attempt to hide his savage resentment of everyone else for in essence abandoning him, showing no interest in closing the gap that had always existed between him and the other staff members. In addition, the Aurors had not been gentle when 'questioning' him, and that combined with all the older damage had left him shaky and constantly exhausted; he had also been drinking far too much, and using potions to sober up before classes.

Snape had been a complete physical and psychological wreck when the school year had finally ended and had promptly gone into hiding all summer. When he had returned in September, he had been much as he was now, cold and distant and emotionless. He had got on with his job efficiently and grimly, indifferent to the way it made both his colleagues and his students dislike him, settling into isolation and apparently trying to make sure everyone forgot what he had done for them as quickly as possible.

Hermione very slowly closed the book and sat back, shivering as she stared at it. "Does the wizarding world have psychiatrists?" she asked quietly.

"No," the nurse confirmed equally softly. "I've picked up some over the years just through observation, but back then I didn't know what was happening. In hindsight none of us who were involved were quite right for a while after the war, but people didn't think about it then – we just got on with things and learned to live with it. Severus suffered far more than the rest of us, but I don't think he would have let anyone help him even if we had known how."

"How did he get through it, on his own like that?" Hermione asked helplessly, and the older woman shrugged.

"I truly don't know, Hermione. I'm certain that most of it was Occlumency, but I know nothing of how it works. And the rest of it was simply his will to survive; I think he just wouldn't allow it to beat him. You've seen yourself how strong he is and how much he can endure; he's always been that way, even when he was a boy. I think in some ways, that was the worst thing about all this," she added slowly.

"I don't understand..."

Madam Pomfrey looked at her grimly. "Even as a child, Severus never cried that I saw, or made any sounds of pain no matter what had happened to him. He choked them back, because he had clearly learned when he was very young that showing pain or fear made matters worse. I never did find proof that he was abused at home, but I'll wager the whole of Gringotts that he was; he has what I call 'the shadow', certain signs that abused children have. It's nothing physical, just a faint darkness in the eyes, a peculiar sort of resignation and acceptance and a complete inability to trust anyone, as well as a certain emotional detachment and a dislike of any physical contact. He tolerates everything that happens to him as though it's a normal part of life; he doesn't fight against it. And he will never ask for help. Most people think that it's pride, I'm sure, but it isn't; he simply doesn't believe that anyone will help him if he asks and he's afraid to show weakness. He buries all his emotions, both good and bad, and keeps himself deliberately isolated. I've seen similar cases more times than I care to remember, but Severus Snape is the most damaged I've seen, and the only one who has never shown any signs of improving or healing."

Biting her lip, Hermione asked quietly, "Does Harry have this 'shadow'?" She had wondered for years about her best friend's upbringing; he refused to say much about it.

"Not in the same way. I'm certain he didn't have a happy childhood, and he wasn't looked after terribly well, but I don't think he was abused. He's emotionally stunted, but not too badly damaged; he hasn't been frightened in the same way. He has the same acceptance and some of the same trust issues, but the scars don't go deep enough to isolate him or he would never have made any friends at all, and he isn't frightened of physical contact or emotionally detached. None of the students you know have a history of serious abuse."

She nodded slowly, her head spinning a little; there was so much to think about.

The nurse touched the last book on the pile. "This is the strictly unofficial record of this war so far. Are you up to finishing it tonight, or would you prefer to deal with it another time?"

She swallowed thickly and shook her head. "No. Let's get it over with."

"There isn't much, to be honest. It's nothing that hasn't happened before."

That turned out to be true, but it certainly didn't make it less depressing or horrible. Madam Pomfrey had noted that Snape was if anything harder than ever, and even more distant. He was less resistant to treatment, arguing less, but mostly because he was more apathetic. His body was coping well so far with the damage being inflicted, but she was worried about the long-term effects on his nervous system and about the deterioration of his psychological health.

Once she had finished reading and handed the book back, Hermione sat back in her chair and stared numbly at the wall for a while, trying to take it in. A few things had fallen into place with almost audible clicks and made a lot more sense now, but mostly she simply couldn't focus long enough to absorb the rest. A small part of her wanted to cry, but what good would that do? Finally she sighed. "It's late. I'd better be getting back to Gryffindor Tower."

"Take this with you," the nurse said firmly, handing her a small vial of a clear potion with a faint blue tinge. "It's a single small dose of Dreamless Sleep. You won't need it again tomorrow, but for tonight you need to take it."

"I don't need a sleeping potion," she protested.

Dilys said from her frame, "You wouldn't say that if you could see your face right now, Hermione. You're white as a sheet and your eyes are huge. What you've read tonight is terrible and shocking and painful and you need time to come to terms with it, even if you don't realise that. Go to bed and take the potion. I'll speak to Severus tomorrow morning and tell him you're not feeling well; you shouldn't be alone with him until you've cleared your head. It would be too painful otherwise."

Hermione thought about this for a moment, biting her lip, before slowly shaking her head. "No. Don't tell him I'm ill. Tell him the truth."

The portrait and the older witch exchanged glances. "Are you sure?" Dilys asked her. "He's not going to be happy."

"He probably thinks I've already read it all," she pointed out, then shrugged helplessly and tried to smile. "I've never been able to lie to him. There's no point trying to keep this hidden. He'll find out sooner or later; if you tell him now then by the time I see him again, he'll have come to terms with the idea as well – I don't have Potions tomorrow. Besides, he's got a right to know I've learned about it. And you can make sure he knows I haven't been told everything." If nothing else, Snape would see it in an Occlumency lesson, but she was keeping that to herself because she had absolutely no idea who knew what and it was easier just not to say anything to anyone.

"Good point," the portrait agreed after a short pause. "All right, I'll tell him."

"Are you all right, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked carefully.

"I don't know. I think so. It's a lot to take in... I'll have to think about it." She sighed. "Isn't there anything else we can do to make it easier?"

"I don't know. We're doing what we can, what he'll let us do. It's not ideal but it's all we can do."

Hermione nodded, then gathered her things quietly and left. Once shielded by the privacy of the curtains around her bed, she cuddled Crookshanks as the tears started pricking the back of her eyes, allowing herself a few moments to appreciate the awfulness and the tragedy of it all before drinking the potion she had been given and sinking into blissful unconsciousness. Her last clear thought was that Snape would be furious if he knew how sorry she felt for him.

* * *

><p>Somewhat to his own surprise, Severus had been largely unmoved by Dilys informing him that Granger had finally seen his more recent records. He had thought she had already been shown them all, but even so, he was slightly surprised by his own indifference; it genuinely didn't much bother him to be given solid proof of his suspicions. The uncharacteristic apathy obviously worried Poppy and the portraits – and that sounded oddly like a bad seventies rock band to him, now he thought about it – but recently he had found it difficult to get wound up about anything much. Potter could still push all his buttons, of course, especially after the Pensieve incident – he was still fighting not to strangle the boy every time he had Potions with the fifth year Gryffindor-Slytherin class – and Umbridge could usually irritate him, and sometimes the Death Eaters, but he had stopped caring much about anything else. It was probably a symptom of increased depression or something, but he didn't much care about that, either.<p>

And he had never really hated Granger as much as he had pretended to; after so many years of frustrated teaching, having a student with a brain was a gift, even if she was almost unbearably annoying at times. She was genuinely on his side – which apparently put him on an equal footing with an oppressed house-elf – and he did at least believe that she wouldn't gossip. It wasn't worth expending the energy to get angry, not when it wouldn't change anything and when he had so much else on his mind.

* * *

><p>A few days later, they started Occlumency in earnest; she'd studied the theory and now it was time to put it into practice. When she arrived at the dungeons after curfew, he had shown her how to use a Pensieve, and now he asked her if there was anything she wanted to put in there before he started accessing her memories properly. He wasn't using it himself tonight; his memories were actually safer inside his head and he wasn't going to underestimate her as he had foolishly done with Potter. All his defences were very firmly in place.<p>

She bit her lip thoughtfully and considered for a few minutes before somewhat surprisingly shaking her head. "I don't think so, sir. There's nothing really bad, and to be honest I think you know most of the embarrassing parts, or the things I've done wrong over the years."

His lips twitched. _True_. Most of them he hadn't discovered until some time afterwards, when it was legitimately too late to see her punished, but in all honesty he wasn't sure he would have done anyway, not unless he could have hung Potter out to dry with her. There had never been any malicious intent; her heart had been in the right place.

"As you wish, then. Understand, Miss Granger, we are starting work in earnest now. I am going to be looking for memories that will hurt or frighten you, for emotional weapons, and I am not going to stop if you get upset. Your task tonight is to try and stop me from finding such memories in the first place, and once I do, to try and divert me to more benign memories. Later on, you will be trying to push me out. I don't know if you will be strong enough to do so, but you will at least learn the theory."

"Do I have any hope of success at all, sir?" she asked. Her eyes were dark, and his lips twitched for a moment; she never did like failing at anything.

"Certainly not this early in your training. And against me, probably not; I am not a particularly powerful Legilimens, but I do have an advantage here, Miss Granger, because I am a very good study of people and I have known you for five years. I know a lot about how you think and about your strengths and weaknesses. Another Death Eater attempting to use Legilimency will not have that knowledge, so you will have more of a chance if that ever happens."

"And against You-Know-Who, sir?"

He hesitated for a moment. The honest answer was no, she stood as much chance as a snowball did in the fires of Hell, but he suspected she was scared enough already. "No," he admitted finally, softly. "He doesn't waste time looking for weaknesses and finding a way in through your defences. He simply applies brute force and smashes his way in. Against him, Occlumency does nothing except allow you to survive the attack; it cannot stop him."

"You manage to lie to him, sir."

"Only because he does not know it. Were he more subtle, he would long ago have discovered that I have deeper defences that he has never seen; once he knew they were there, he would be able to break through. He thinks he has seen all that I am capable of, so he trusts that were I to betray him, he would know. With captives who are not his followers, he is even more brutal than he is with his Death Eaters and he will leave nothing behind. However, that is not the situation. You are learning so that you can teach Potter enough to allow him to mute a remote connection that the Dark Lord is not even aware of; the idea is to avoid any of you getting captured, after all," he added sarcastically, and for a moment she almost seemed about to smile.

"I haven't found a visualisation that works for me yet, sir. How do I try and defend myself without it? Should I try one of the other methods you told me about, like distraction?"

"You can, although I wouldn't try anything complicated at the moment. Sheer strength of will is the first part of keeping someone out, and you have always had that," he remarked rather wryly with a thin shade of mockery in his voice that almost earned him a glare, hidden behind the image of respectful attention. Amused, he continued, "Once I am in your mind, your best hope is to try and divert me each time I find a suitably damaging memory. It's easier if you choose a similar memory, one linked to the original. Bear in mind that failure here is not necessarily a true failure, and that as you grow more affected by what I am doing you will find it far more difficult."

"What about physical attacks, sir? If we're just standing here staring at one another... could I try and use magic against you?"

"What, again?" he asked dryly, and smirked as he saw her blush. That was another reason for not trying to see her punished, of course; it had been extremely embarrassing to realise that a child had got the better of him so often and he wasn't about to admit it to anyone else. It served him right for underestimating her, and he was determined not to make the same mistakes as she grew older and more formidable. Mockery aside, though, it had been a good question. "You can, certainly, since in this scenario you are free and armed, although in a true interrogation you wouldn't be. It's doubtful that you will be able to concentrate at first, as you are not used to mental invasion, but by all means make the attempt if you can." If she managed to get anything past his shields, he deserved it, even though she wasn't as strong as Potter.

"Are you ready?"

She bit her lip. He had noticed that tell in her first term, but over the five years since then he had refined the knowledge and identified several different lip-bites that could mean anything from pain to guilt to fear to anticipation; this one looked like nervous determination, the most dangerous one. "I think so, sir."

"_Legilimens,_" he replied with no more warning, his dark eyes locking on to her brown ones. He had caught her off guard, as he had known he would; there was a brief flicker of alarm as she pushed at him, but she hadn't been prepared and he slid into her thoughts with no resistance. She had never been attacked mentally before and he could feel her fear; following the standard method, he used that fear as a bridge and looked for memories that had made her feel afraid and helpless, following the natural links in her mind.

Flashes of images poured over him, and for the moment he let them pass without trying to focus on a particular one, just watching the flickers to get a vague idea of what he was seeing. The defences around the Philosopher's Stone were no surprise; that had been her first real test, her first glimpse of what this new world really meant, and that flickered back to an image of the Sorting Hat – she had almost been a hatstall, he seemed to remember, much as he had – which was tied to her own very private insecurity. That was linked to an image of Minerva scowling in angry disappointment which must surely have been a nightmare – he very much doubted his colleague had ever looked at one of her favourite cubs like that, or ever had cause to in this case.

_Hmm. _Much as he had expected; he had thought for years that her obsessive need to try far too hard was rooted in a deep, almost mortal fear of getting it wrong, of failing. Curious now, he wondered what had caused that fear, and gently nudged the flow of images to go back further. She was trying to resist now, blindly struggling against the command, and the flickering pictures were harder to see – momentary flashes of a smiling man and woman who both bore enough of a resemblance to her that they must be her parents, and split-second glimpses of schoolchildren in a primary school classroom, slightly distorted sounds that to him were instantly recognisable as playground taunts and some sort of mocking rhyme – you never forgot that sound, he knew that all too well – a brief flash of her aged maybe eight with tears running down her cheeks...

Severus understood, better than anyone would have thought him capable of. He had been observing all his students for almost fifteen years, and in Miss Granger he had seen instantly a child far too smart for her surroundings, a girl who had never fitted in with her peers and so had never learned how to. He had been the same, but his upbringing had been harsher and had taught him to hide, to withdraw; Granger hadn't learned that. She had been encouraged by the adults around her, parents and teachers, taught to burn brightly, and the price for that was to have no friends, no equals. Her academic success and her intelligence had been her only comforts during her early years and that had given her a ferocious drive to continue to succeed because it was all she had. Now, with the world turning darker, she knew she wasn't prepared for the situation she found herself in and she was desperate not to show it, trying to appear confident and knowledgeable while all the while being absolutely terrified of getting it wrong.

And, too, she was scared of losing the only real friends she had ever had. Potter and Weasley showed up in the flashes of memory, accompanied by flickers of emotion. The boys drove her mad a lot of the time, she argued with them both frequently and each time she did so she was miserable and frightened until they hypocritically forgave her for whatever petty quarrel they had started, afraid of losing them no matter how infuriated they made her, because she had never been good at making friends and didn't have anyone else.

That, too, Severus could understand only too well.

He withdrew gently and broke the connection. She hadn't really made much of an effort to fight him, but he wasn't going to scold her for it this time. She would have seen those memories in their entirety and relived the feelings that went with them, and he wasn't remotely surprised to see that she was crying, nor was he surprised to see how fiercely she was trying not to. Turning away, he regarded the wall of his office thoughtfully, giving her time to pull herself together as he considered what he had just learned, fitting the new puzzle pieces into his mental picture of her. He had the keys to her mind now, if he'd wanted them; now he needed to come up with a way to teach her how to rearrange the links so that it would be much harder to follow that pathway. How, he wasn't sure yet; he hadn't been lying when he had told Dumbledore that he had no idea how to teach anyone to do what he did instinctively. Still, the two of them seemed startlingly alike in a few small ways, so if he dwelled on how he did it for a few days maybe something would come to him.

"I think that will do for tonight," he said without turning around once the muffled sounds of suppressed sobbing seemed to have stopped. "You understand now how a Legilimency attack works, do you not?"

Granger sniffed thickly. "Yes, sir." He turned to look at her, and she realised he was waiting for something more and drew a shaky breath. "It works by finding similarities between memories, using them like – like stepping stones to go deeper."

"Exactly." Thank God she was this smart. Even if he and Potter hadn't hated one another, the boy could never have grasped these concepts so quickly.

"Did you see everything I did, sir?" she asked in a small voice.

_I did ask if you wanted to hide anything. _He kept the rebuke to himself; it was a natural question, and Potter had asked the same thing, although more belligerently. "Very brief flashes of each memory, not the memories themselves. I saw just enough to get some idea of what each memory contained, and had it been a serious attack I could have focused on individual ones to see them in their entirety. So, how would you defend yourself against it?"

This lip-bite was mostly to stop the last remnants of tears, by the look of it, although she was also thinking hard; despite her recent attempts to grow up, she was still painfully transparent, at least to him. "I suppose there are two ways, sir."

"Go on."

"I could try to find different similarities, to link to different memories, so the... stepping stones lead in a different direction?" She was gesturing with her hands as she spoke, describing a kind of spiral with her fingers to emphasise her meaning.

"Yes, but that requires time to prepare in advance, really. It can be done once you know enough to identify where you are most vulnerable, but it is almost impossible to do so quickly and spontaneously when under attack."

She nodded slowly. "The only other way I can think of is by waiting until you or whoever is concentrating on a memory and then trying to break their concentration while they're distracted, but obviously it would be very difficult."

He nodded. "It is, which is why the best method is to construct defences that prevent the attack in the first place, or at least lessen the impact of it so you can still function. Self-knowledge is the key here; if you know yourself well enough to know where you are most vulnerable, you will know what to expect. You also need to find the method of visualisation that will work best for you. How is Potter getting on with the meditation?"

"He manages it most of the time when we're practising, sir, but I'm not sure how well he's doing on his own. He says he's doing it every night and that the dreams are less frequent, and I believe him, but Ron says he's still muttering in his sleep sometimes, and he doesn't seem to be much calmer."

Gloomily, Severus nodded. "I wasn't expecting anything else. We can but try, Miss Granger, that's all. Very well, you are dismissed for tonight; I shall see you tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

><p>Hermione had spent a long time trying to work out her visualisation. Snape had given her a lot of different examples, and she was very tempted by the notion of building a library in her mind to organise her knowledge and make it much easier to recall things, going so far as to make quite a few notes about how she would sort things out. It would be perfect as a means of organising her mind, but she couldn't really see how it could be used as a defence – it seemed horribly easy to find information in such an organised mental system. Maybe someday she'd get the time to sit and work with the idea properly, but right now she needed something else, something simpler that could be used to protect her mind.<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that Harry finally confessed the real reason why his Occlumency lessons had stopped, shamefacedly admitting the truth to his two friends in their usual corner of the common room one evening.<p>

Hermione could have hit him. "You did _what_?" she hissed furiously. "Harry, you can't go looking in other people's Pensieves! Didn't you learn anything from Dumbledore? Maybe if he'd told you off you might have listened..."

"Hermione, Hermione, please, stop it. I know, I know I was wrong, I know I shouldn't have done it, I know Snape's got every right to be furious with me, but it's too late to change it now... listen, I – I want to tell you what I saw. It was... it was horrible," he ended in a small voice, and the look on his face persuaded her to put aside her anger and listen.

She could understand his pain as he spoke, sounding so bewildered. It had started just because his father and Sirius were bored. Snape hadn't done anything, hadn't even been near them, and they'd started picking on him for absolutely no reason. She could hear in Harry's voice that most of his illusions had gone. No matter what he'd heard, he'd always clung to the notion that the feud had been Snape's fault, and now it seemed he was wrong.

Even as Harry dwelled on his own disappointed confusion, Hermione was remembering a page of the student record. _Diagnostic has found that he was apparently forced to ingest soap... _so this was what had happened that day. She didn't understand how anyone could do something like that. She'd known her fair share of bullying over the years, but what they'd done to Snape was just sick.

Then Harry went on to talk about his mother, and she froze, listening intently. Harry was mostly focusing on the fact that Lily had apparently not been able to stand the sight of James, but he did tell them about how Snape had reacted, and Hermione bit her lip to hold back a gasp. He'd called his friend a Mudblood? Well, no wonder they'd fallen out. If Ron had said anything like that to her, or Harry for that matter, she'd never have spoken to them again either.

With an effort, she pushed it aside to think about later; right now, her friend needed to talk, to try and sort out the mess this had made of his head. He'd always hero-worshipped the father he'd never known, and losing that glittering image had hit him very hard.

"I feel really bad," Harry ended finally, fidgeting. "I – I almost want to try and apologise."

"God, Harry, don't do that," she told him in some alarm. "He'll kill you."

"I thought you liked him now," Ron said blankly. She hadn't told the boys much, she certainly hadn't mentioned the jogging or his indirect inspiration for the DA and Harry's interview or gone into much detail about the healing, but she hadn't been able to keep everything from them. They knew she sometimes helped him when he was injured, and that sometimes she spoke to him outside lessons now and they occasionally managed civil conversations of sorts, and after some thought she had told them about how she'd gone to the dungeons before Christmas to ask if he had any news and he had let her stay and work to distract herself. Neither Harry nor Ron understood it, but as long as they thought it was only very occasionally and as long as Snape continued to act like a bastard to all three of them in public, they weren't going to freak out. It couldn't last, sooner or later they were going to find out everything and then they would probably never speak to her again, but for the moment things were fairly stable.

"I wouldn't go that far," she replied a little uncomfortably now, before shrugging and smiling ruefully. "And I do know what he's like."

"I still reckon I should try and make up for it somehow," Harry muttered.

"It's a bit late now," she told him exasperatedly. "Shame you didn't think like this before you went nosing about."

"Yeah, I know..."

"Give it up, mate," Ron decided. "There's no point. Snape's always hated you and he's always going to hate you. You can't punch fog."

Something went _click _in Hermione's mind, and to the astonishment of both her friends she flung herself at Ron and hugged him. "You're a genius."

"I am?"

"Well, you have your moments."

"Cool. Are you going to tell me what you're talking about?"

"No."

* * *

><p>That night she once again faced the Potions master in an empty room deep in the dungeons. "I still don't see why we have to do this so late," she complained half-heartedly.<p>

"Because I have no free time and because even the idiots who attend this school are never going to believe that _you _need remedial Potions," Snape replied, sounding rather irritable – possibly because he had been forced into giving her an indirect backhanded compliment, which he always hated doing. "Nor would anyone believe you had detention, since all your rule-breaking takes place outside class and without proof. What progress have you made?"

"Harry seems calmer, but apparently he's still talking in his sleep," she reported, noting the tightening of his eyes when she mentioned Harry. No wonder, really; she didn't blame him for being angry. Harry really did deserve at least half the treatment he received from Snape, although certainly not all of it. "I think I've found my visualisation," she offered now to distract him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Prepare yourself, then, and I'll take a look."

Closing her eyes for a few moments, she concentrated, breathing the way he had shown her, drawing the calm silence of the dungeons into her and focusing on the image she wanted, before opening her eyes again and meeting his gaze. "_Legilimens,_" he said softly, and she fought to hold the image as the pressure built and vision faded to darkness.

When the connection broke and she focused on his face once more, he was watching her thoughtfully. "Fog. That's a good choice, if not quite what I was expecting from you."

"What were you expecting, sir?"

"I thought you would be more suited to the liar's palace method." He smirked suddenly. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to build yourself a library."

It was a waste of time glaring at him, but she did so anyway, and his smirk broadened. "I thought about it," she admitted grudgingly. "I think I might be suited to it, but it would take too long and be too complicated. For all I know, I could be taken tomorrow; I need something easier to use."

"I'm touched by your faith in us," he replied sarcastically.

"With all due respect, sir, I've lost count of the things that Hogwarts hasn't been able to prevent just in the last five years." Not including the things that Hogwarts had simply allowed to happen; she was still pretty suspicious about the Philosopher's Stone and maybe some of the other events as well.

"Touché," he conceded with a soft snort. "And you're right; a deep construct like the liar's palace takes years to develop."

"Do you have one, sir?"

"Yes, after a fashion, as part of the very deepest areas of my mind, but I don't use it as a defence; it's more for keeping order and organisation and structure."

She nodded. "So fog is a good choice?"

"Yes. It will work in the same way as water does for me, so it will be easier for me to teach you to refine it, and of course there are plenty of analogies and metaphors for your mind to use to process it. What was your inspiration?" he asked curiously. "I don't recall it being foggy recently."

Hermione grinned. "Actually, it was something Ron said."

"Good God. Weasley said something useful?"

"Sir!" she protested, and he smirked at her, entirely unapologetic.

"Now that you have your visualisation, you need to work with it, think of different ways to hide things in the fog. I've shown you a few of the ways I use, but fog gives you more options. You could build some rather unpleasant defences, with time. Think about what you're likely to need and try to prioritise."

"Yes, sir. Is there any point in trying to teach Harry this yet?"

"You tell me."

She opened her mouth to lie, but his black eyes were steady and piercing and she found that she couldn't. "He's not ready," she admitted. "He says he's clearing his mind, and he does seem calmer, but I don't think he's ready for something like this yet."

He nodded. "Truthfully, Miss Granger, I'll be very surprised if he ever is. Whatever the answer to this connection with the Dark Lord, I'm not convinced that it's Occlumency. Meditating, clearing his mind, not pursuing these dreams – it will help, but it's not a complete solution. Still, it's what we have. Do your best with him; nobody's expecting a miracle. Except possibly you."

"Thank you, sir," she replied sourly. "I did have another question about Occlumency, though..."

"You don't say," he drawled, smirking briefly and shaking his head. "Go on, then."

"I was wondering about the long-term effects of using it so often."

She knew she was taking a risk with this question. In effect, she had just asked Snape if he was going crazy because of how much he suppressed his emotions all the time, and she winced inwardly when his eyes hardened and began to glitter faintly in unmistakeable anger. After far too long a pause, he exhaled slowly and asked crisply, "And why would you be wondering such a thing?"

"I was wondering if it affects everyone in the same way. If Harry did learn to use it and did so a lot, or if I work with it more often, would it affect us in the same way it does you?" she asked carefully. "I'd like to know what to look out for."

His eyes narrowed and he still looked annoyed, but slightly less so than he had done a moment ago. "In some ways," he said finally, a little curtly, "but it depends more on the personality of the Occlumens and what they use it for. One of the effects you have probably already begun to experience without realising it is your dreams..."

"Is that why you keep a dream diary?" she asked before she could stop herself, and froze. _Shit!_

Snape looked really angry now. "They really did show you everything, didn't they," he said very softly in a dangerous voice; his whole body had tensed fractionally, giving him the impression of being about to attack.

Frantically Hermione shook her head. "No, sir, and I didn't actually look at that, or anything else personal. Phineas just told me what it was. I promise."

He looked away from her, moving away from where he had been leaning against his desk and slowly pacing to one side. When he spoke again some minutes later, he had returned to the calm distant tones he usually lectured in, although she suspected he wasn't as in control as he seemed. "If you use Occlumency heavily, it will suppress your dreams completely for a short time as your defences evolve and adapt themselves, while your mind is in effect sorting itself out. That will affect your mood and you will find that you aren't sleeping well, but it will only be for a couple of weeks. After that, you will begin to dream again, but as though you are merely observing someone else's dream. You will no longer have lucid dreams, nor will there be any particular emotion attached to most dreams, and you will seldom remember them very clearly."

"'Most' dreams, sir?"

"Even Occlumency can't stop nightmares," he said softly. "They will be far less frequent, and only the very worst will get past your defences, but the side effect of that is that those that do get through will be much more difficult to endure by comparison."

"I see, sir."

"And, since you will no doubt wonder endlessly, yes, that is why I keep a dream diary," he added heavily, staring fixedly at the wall. "Monitoring my dreams allows me to assess which areas of my psyche are more vulnerable at a particular time. The other notes in there would have done you no good had you looked at it; it's in my own private cipher. They are chiefly psychological. And from tonight I am going to lay a ward on that book. If anyone but myself touches it, it will burn. I will also remove every single point Gryffindor possesses if you ever invade my privacy in such a way."

"Yes, sir," she replied meekly, flushing with shame before trying to change the subject a bit. "Why would you record something like that?" she dared to ask cautiously.

He shrugged. "Self knowledge is important, Miss Granger. I know the things I truly fear and the things that will cause me to lose control of my temper and the areas where I am most... damaged. Studying allows me to prepare myself so that those things cannot easily be used against me. It is not a perfect solution, but it is what I have. Know thyself, as they say."

"I see, sir. Was there anything else you wanted to teach me tonight?"

"No. Get some sleep."

"I will if you will," she retorted before she could stop herself.

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that, Miss Granger. You are walking on very thin ice already. Go away."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Severus woke from a troubled and uneasy sleep to the knowledge that the world had changed on a deep fundamental level. For a moment, as he waited for his mind to clear in the hope that he would realise that he was dreaming, he was frozen; reality seeped back after a short pause. No, he wasn't dreaming, or mistaken. He remembered this feeling only too well.<p>

"Oh, damn," he whispered to the empty darkness of his bedroom, sighing. "Not this. Not again."

* * *

><p><em>Hm, what has our hero realised, I wonder? Some beautiful Occlumency fanart this time by <strong>Ukirra<strong>: _arriku dot deviantart dot com/#/d4dkfhx**  
><strong>


	11. Chapter 11

_Happy 18th birthday to **storry-eyed**, one of the two reviewers who have been with me since my first story and followed me into this fandom. _

_Now, for this chapter, I have two words for you: Occlumency fight! Oh, and a lot of emotional angst from our very confused hero, and a few new developments.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Just washing it aside<br>All of the helplessness inside  
>Pretending I don't feel misplaced<br>Is so much simpler than change..."**  
>– Linkin Park, 'Easier To Run'.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus was getting annoyed now, listening to the chatter in the staff room and trying to block it out by concentrating on the journal he was trying to read. Ordinarily he would have been hiding in his dungeon in peace – or as much peace as he could get with the thoughts occupying his mind at the moment – but since Dumbledore had left he didn't dare; it was a lot safer to stay where he could keep an eye on Umbridge and be warned of the newest bloody Decree before it happened.<p>

"Will you all shut up?" he asked finally in some irritation. "What are you all babbling about, anyway?"

"Nymphadora."

"Tonks? Why? Has she fallen over anything more interesting than she usually does?" The young Auror annoyed him; she had been a terribly accident-prone student, and as a fellow Order member she was cheerful enough and optimistic enough to be unbelievably irritating. Luckily she didn't try to speak to him very often, but that was small consolation, although she was quite good at annoying Moody, which was always worth watching.

"She's apparently set her cap at none other than our dear Remus," Minerva told him.

Somewhat childishly, he made a gagging noise in the back of his throat, although he did at least refrain from making any perverse jokes about why Lupin might want to play with a Metamorphagus – at least out loud. "God help us all. That's doomed from the start." Surely she wasn't that blind, or that dense?

"Don't be so sure."

"Why, has he proposed already?" he asked with a sneer.

"Oh, no, he's being stubborn and refusing her at the moment. No, her Patronus has turned into a wolf. Even you have to admit that's sweet."

"I may vomit," he replied coldly, returning to his journal and staring blankly at the pages while he tried to work out why he suddenly felt worried. Thoughts of his Patronus usually just made him feel sad, and sometimes vaguely guilty; fear was a new one. What did it matter if Tonks had joined the ranks of those whose Patronus reflected unrequited love? She'd been lucky; at least hers was rather less embarrassing than his doe...

A cold shiver ran down his back. He hadn't cast his Patronus in a long time, not since the very start of the war... a lot had changed in his life since then.

_Oh, shit._

As soon as he convincingly could, Severus excused himself and beat a hasty retreat down to the relative security of the dungeons, trying very hard not to panic. This was dangerous – if his Patronus had changed, which seemed worryingly likely, then Dumbledore would eventually find out. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen then; the Headmaster barely trusted him an inch as it was.

And if it had changed, that meant he'd lost his last link with _her, _too. That hurt to think about, which was nothing more than a reflection of his own confusion. He really didn't like the way he had felt about Lily for so long, and if he was brutally honest he didn't much like her at all any more, but he still didn't want to lose this final piece. He also didn't really want to face all the complications that would arise if he had to confront a changed Patronus and what that meant, since he had been resolutely trying not to think about it for days now. _What a mess. _Crossing through his quarters quickly, he took the stairs down to his usual laboratory, the one place where he was guaranteed to have some privacy since there were no sodding portrait frames down there, and perched on the closest bench; taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and composed himself, concentrating hard.

"_Expecto patronum,_" he whispered finally, opening his eyes somewhat nervously to see the results.

* * *

><p>Under the circumstances, Severus was not in a particularly good mood following his extremely unwelcome realisation, as well as the problem with his Patronus. It really wasn't Granger's fault, but that wasn't stopping him from taking it out on her – much as he disliked that part of his personality, it was still a part of him, petty or not. Keeping silent and ignoring her every morning was fine, it was normal, and if he found himself glancing at her from the corner of his eye more often or focusing more intently on the sound of her breathing then that was his problem and nothing anyone else would notice. Equally, sniping at her in lessons and butchering her homework was par for the course, and in the hospital wing he was generally in no fit state to let his thoughts stray into dangerous territory, although he hadn't had to go there in a while.<p>

But Occlumency lessons... ah, those were a different story. Now he knew he was becoming more tangled with every cautious foray into her mind, and he was fighting it with everything he had. Unfortunately, there was no real way to fight it, since he was either causing her pain or grudgingly admiring the way she avoided it. And, as always, he was tired and stressed, which always made his temper worse, and tonight he simply couldn't be bothered to rein himself in any longer.

Irrationally annoyed at her increasing resistance to the usual probes, even though that was the whole point of these lessons, he changed tactics and chose instead to show her a memory, to distract her and weaken her defences. It was a legitimate method, but there really was no excuse for him to choose the memory of several years ago, when he had been called to the Infirmary after Poppy had admitted defeat and been confronted with the sight of a student who was half girl and half cat. She had been sedated at the time, which meant she hadn't seen the way he had laughed until he couldn't stand unaided and had to cling to the doorframe for support, nearly crying with laughter, until he showed it to her now.

The brief flicker of hurt he sensed in response was enough to make him feel a little guilty, and he started to draw back, preparing to end the connection and talk about this new strategy – until she retaliated, projecting a memory surprisingly forcefully. It took him a moment to recognise the underside of the Quidditch stadium benches, and a moment longer to realise the point; by that time, the memory-Granger had drawn her wand and set fire to his leg and he had responded with what in hindsight had been an embarrassingly high pitched yelp, as well as a rather undignified attempt to stamp out the flames instead of drawing his own wand and dealing with it more rationally. He didn't like fire, at least not when it was directed at him, and he had been concentrating very hard on his attempt at a wandless counter-curse.

His temper flared at the humiliation associated with the reminder, and he responded unkindly with a flurry of images of her bouncing frantically in her chair and waving her hand around with near-terminal eagerness to answer a question; it had taken the better part of two years for her to break herself of that habit, and even now she sometimes regressed if she was especially enthusiastic about a topic.

It seemed her blood was up as well, since she responded with the image of the Boggart that Lupin had orchestrated. Severus had seen it before, against his will; the bastard had projected it for everyone to laugh at in the staff room every night for a week afterwards, and the memory now made him flush with humiliated fury as his temper snapped completely. Spitefully, he retaliated with the worst memory that sprang to mind, one that he was actually genuinely ashamed of – last year, when Draco had hexed her teeth and he had cruelly made everyone else laugh at her. His reaction at the time had been without thinking and born of temper, just as it was this time.

And, just as it had done on that occasion, his action hurt her. He felt her anger give way under the sting of old pain, a feeling he could identify with only too well, and his own temper began to subside into guilt. He was trying to come up with some way to soften the damage he had done that wouldn't be too out of character for him when he felt a flicker of some emotion he couldn't quite identify and a moment later was hit with a very strong projection of Lupin changing into the raging werewolf of his nightmares.

He very nearly wet himself in blind and automatic fear, breaking the connection instantly before she could catch just how terrified he was, and he had never been so grateful for his defences as he reflexively retreated and burrowed deep behind them to calm down. She knew him far too well to play this game, which worried him, and he had to admit – even if only to himself – that he deserved it. Feeling rather shaky, he looked at her, blinking and trying to focus on something other than the image of snarling fangs in his head, and found her staring at him with pure Gryffindor defiance; she looked upset and hurt, and rather frightened of his reaction, but anger had kindled smoky flames in those deep brown eyes.

"Enough," he said quietly, looking away, trying to back down without actually backing down. They had both gone too far, and he couldn't legitimately get angry because it had been his fault and he had deserved worse. If it had been anyone else, that wouldn't have stopped him blaming them, taking a lot of House points and giving them detention – and if Potter had been the one, the boy would be running for his life right about now – but... but this was Granger, and he was now dismally aware that where she was concerned his usual rules no longer seemed to apply.

As the awkward silence dragged out, he was trying uncomfortably to think of some way of apologising without actually saying sorry – not only was he terrible at apologies, and didn't want to admit that he was actually sorry, but Professor Snape didn't apologise for hurting students; in fact, he revelled in it – when it became somewhat moot as his arm began to burn. _Oh, fuck. _He didn't need this now. He wasn't in the mood and would end up seriously annoying someone; still, maybe a duel with someone he disliked would help him clear his head, as long as he didn't pick anyone his master wanted at the moment.

Avoiding her eyes, he said rather stiffly, "I may well see you in the hospital wing later."

She drew in a sharp breath in response, pushing her anger away. "Are you being Summoned, sir?"

He bit his tongue to stop himself snapping '_Obviously_' at her, and merely nodded, turning away and automatically fishing his mask and robe out of their usual pocket. "I'm sure you can see yourself out. Preferably without touching anything."

* * *

><p>Snape looked a real mess when Hermione entered the hospital wing later that night; his face was covered in blood and his half-open coat and the white shirt beneath it were both spattered with gore. Despite herself, she asked, "What happened?"<p>

He wouldn't even look at her in response, and Madam Pomfrey answered absently, "By the look of things, a fairly weak Reductor curse to the face. Nasty, but not life threatening. He has a broken jaw and probably some loose teeth. Hold still, Severus, and open your mouth as far as you can." Snape gave her an unreadable look before obeying, and both women winced; his jaw didn't open so much as simply fall, accompanied by a wave of crimson that poured out of his mouth.

"Well, that's worse than I thought it would be," the nurse noted dispassionately after a moment, using her wand to siphon away the worst of the gore so that she could inspect the damage. "I think you've lost a tooth, Severus, unfortunately, but it's quite hard to see – everything's been twisted around in here." She started poking around in his mouth; Snape's eyes turned flat and distant as he reverted to his usual trick of pretending that he wasn't there and that it wasn't happening, trying to maintain as much dignity as possible given that bloody drool was running down his chin.

Hermione moved in for a better look; his already crooked teeth were all over the place right now, emphasising the existing malocclusion, and his whole jaw was twisted to one side and almost hanging loose. There were splinters and fragments of bone visible in his gums, his tongue and the inside of his cheek, there was a deep wound across the roof of his mouth that was seeping blood, and Madam Pomfrey was right, one of the upper left molars was missing. All in all, it looked a bit of a mess; her parents would have been utterly horrified – _although they would anyway, with his teeth, _she told herself uncharitably, still seriously angry with him. She had grown dangerously complacent, becoming used to Snape treating her fairly decently outside classes and ignoring her during them; she had forgotten just what a petty, spiteful and unjust bastard he could be at times.

"What do you think, Hermione?" Madam Pomfrey asked, breaking in to her reverie.

About to answer, Hermione paused as a cold shiver ran down her spine; she had a sudden sense of standing at a crossroads, as if what she said next was a lot more important than she thought it was. It wasn't a very nice feeling; a disorientating sense of uncertainty. Distantly, she heard her own voice with mild surprise as she replied quietly and with deliberate emphasis, "I see no difference."

Madam Pomfrey simply looked puzzled, as well she might, but Snape's head snapped around and he stared at her, his black eyes sharp and piercing. His expression went from disbelief to anger, before it faded and he dropped his gaze, looking surprisingly ashamed of himself. He'd got the point, at least, although Hermione didn't expect for a moment that he would let it stop him from tearing a strip off her as soon as his jaw was back in place.

Once the repairs were done – he claimed not to know what had become of the missing tooth, but thought it probable that he had accidentally swallowed it – and Madam Pomfrey had gone in search of something soothing to wash his mouth out with, Hermione took a breath and bit the bullet. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier, sir. And for... before." He had shielded very quickly, but she had still caught a brief flash of real deep fear from him. Choosing the werewolf had been rather unkind; he could have retaliated with any of her fears, she was sure he knew them by now. There had been nicer ways to annoy him, as daft as that sounded, without playing on his fears.

His voice was quieter than usual and the edges of his words slightly softened due to his sore mouth as he shivered and replied, "No, you aren't. Nor should you be."

She blinked at him. "You're not angry, sir?"

"No. Oddly impressed, if anything, I think. Few people have the courage to tell me when I've gone too far." He worked his jaw slowly and carefully from side to side, almost experimentally, before reaching up and starting to poke at it in direct defiance of Madam Pomfrey's orders.

"Harry and Ron tried to..."

"No, they didn't," he interrupted contemptuously. "They shouted rude words at me like seven year olds. It was a pathetic juvenile display and it made as much of an impression as every other such display I have seen over the years. Besides, although I am loath to admit it and will deny it until the end of time should you tell anyone else, I deserved worse earlier. I started it. You also responded to the attack in exactly the right way to resist such an assault."

Taking a risk, she sat on the cot next to him; he was still avoiding her eyes, she noticed, adding to her confusion. He wasn't reacting the way she had come to expect; something was different tonight. "Why did you say that about my teeth, sir?" she asked, trying and failing to keep the pain out of her voice. He had truly hurt her last year, and again earlier this evening.

"I don't think you want me to answer that, Miss Granger," he replied quietly; she could feel him shivering still.

"Yes, I do."

He sighed, still looking at the floor. "I wanted to hurt you," he said indifferently. "It's that simple. I was having a bad day and I wanted to take it out on someone else and you were a convenient target. I am not proud of it, I regret it, but there it is."

Before she could stop to remember who she was talking to, she asked acidly, "And do you think that's appropriate behaviour from a teacher?"

"I don't have this job because I am a good teacher, Miss Granger," he responded tiredly. "I am here because the Headmaster needed to keep an eye on me and needed me to have plenty of information to assure the Dark Lord of my loyalty when he eventually returned. No other reason. Of course it wasn't appropriate. It wasn't fair, it wasn't nice and it wasn't true. I am somewhat surprised that you think any of those reasons might have stopped me from saying it. Surely by now you have realised that I am in fact every bit as unpleasant as I seem."

There really wasn't much she could say to that, but she was disappointed. She had hoped that there had been some deeper reason, some sort of motive behind it, drawing the focus away from Harry and Malfoy before the situation grew any worse or something, but apparently he had said it just because he was that much of a bastard. Feeling strangely let down, she only nodded and shifted a little further away from him, fiddling with a lock of hair silently as Madam Pomfrey returned and bade Snape rinse his mouth with a milky-looking potion.

As he was leaving, Hermione said quietly, "That wasn't an apology, sir."

Snape turned and looked at her, raising an eyebrow; his eyes glittered a little as he replied matter-of-factly, "No, it wasn't. Well observed." Regarding her for a moment, he nodded once and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Despite herself, Hermione actually laughed softly, shaking her head. At least he was honest about it.

* * *

><p>Severus was sorry to have missed the departure of the Weasley twins, but they were already gone by the time he made it out of his dungeons. Their dramatic exit was the declaration of open hostilities; their joke products were all over the school, and within a week at least half of all the toad's students were leaving her lessons in the first ten minutes with a very varied and creative range of ailments. With one accord, the staff gleefully joined in; Severus had already made her very, very nervous about what she ate after several nasty bouts of gastric flu and was mostly content to sit back and watch his colleagues starting to play.<p>

Minerva pulled the best stunt, he was forced to admit; she had broken into the toad's office and Transfigured all those horrific kitten plates so that they looked like real kittens, ginger and tabby and black and tortoiseshell, rather than pink or purple. She had removed their bows and fixed their crossed eyes as well. The kittens actually seemed quite pleased, Severus had noted idly next time he was in there – for some reason Umbridge insisted on holding staff meetings in her office rather than in the staff room – but the toad had been absolutely livid, especially since she had so far been unable to reverse it. His superior had probably won herself the pot for that one, annoyingly.

Filius showed a knack for disrupting the staff meetings; the little Charms teacher had rapidly realised that few people took him seriously and that even someone as paranoid as Umbridge wouldn't suspect him, and really went to town. The temperature changed dramatically every few minutes, the window came loose from its frame and let gusts of wind through – a wind that didn't exist outside – and the candles and lamps flickered or changed colour so rapidly they seemed to strobe, or simply went out entirely; they sat through more than one meeting by wand light, and discovered idly that several of them had a certain odd talent for shadow puppets. Severus earned himself a slap around the back of the head from Minerva for his admittedly somewhat obscene contribution to the theatre.

Septima Vector, Rolanda Hooch and Aurora Sinistra had formed an alliance – Severus had promptly christened them Macbeth's Coven, if only in his head – and had begun following the students' example when it came to animals, only instead of letting Nifflers into her rooms, they let in tomcats. Entire tomcats, who therefore naturally proceeded to spray everywhere before clawing anything that would take a claw, and on one occasion when they let in two at once having a splendid fight. They had also let Peeves in twice, to the poltergeist's joy.

For his part, Severus let it happen, mostly too tired to muster his former enthusiasm as the end of the year drew closer and rather preoccupied with other matters. He did, however, play to his strengths and shamelessly mock everything the toad said; he had honed the delicate use of sarcasm to a fine art over the years, and his tongue was as sharp as his wits. Most of the time she didn't even realise that he wasn't agreeing with her, and he usually had the others in stitches. It was a small bright spark of amusement in an increasingly grim and bleak world.

* * *

><p>"Filius, may I talk to you, if you're free? I want to ask your opinion."<p>

The little Charms teacher looked up from the pile of essays he was marking. He looked quite surprised to see Severus standing in the doorway of his office – as well he might; Severus wasn't a social man and rarely if ever sought his colleagues' company for anything, let alone a professional opinion – but recovered smoothly and offered him a smile. "Of course, Severus. Come in. May I offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you," he replied tersely, closing the door behind him and settling uncomfortably into a chair, automatically suppressing a wince. "I wanted to ask – what factors would cause a Patronus to stop working?" he asked bluntly. No need to beat around the bush; he wasn't in the mood for small talk and he didn't have time for it. This was preying on his mind too much for comfort and he needed to sort it out as quickly as possible.

"Stop working?" Flitwick echoed, frowning. "How do you mean?"

"I mean that the Patronus charm used to work and now no longer does," he snapped, exasperated. "What else would I mean?"

"Are we talking about you, Severus?"

"Yes," he admitted through gritted teeth.

"I didn't realise that Death Eaters could produce a corporeal Patronus," the Head of Ravenclaw noted in a tone of mild surprise.

He scowled, clenching his jaw for a moment. "They can't," he replied curtly. It was odd that the words stung him so much; after all, they were perfectly true. He _was _a Death Eater, had been put on trial for it many years ago – a memory that still haunted his dreams – and had admitted it publicly, even to the point of brazenly showing his Dark Mark to the Minister of Magic, which was certainly not his cleverest move ever. And yet, someone else calling him a Death Eater stung. Strange.

"But you can?"

"I just said so, didn't I? At least, I used to be able to. Now, well... see for yourself." Gloomily, he drew his wand from his sleeve and concentrated for a moment. "_Expecto patronum._"

Both wizards watched the swirling silvery mist. It wasn't the wispy and insubstantial effort of someone who had only just learned to perform the charm, or of someone using a memory too weak to succeed. Instead, it was almost as if something was preventing the Patronus from forming. There was a suggestion of something four-legged in the roiling foggy tendrils, but the shape lacked cohesion and kept falling apart, struggling to reform and failing.

"I've never seen anything like this, Severus," the Charms teacher said after a pause, watching the silver swirls thoughtfully. He picked up some fresh parchment and reached for his quill. "Let's start with the basics. How old were you when you first cast a corporeal Patronus?"

"Seventeen." He remembered that Defence lesson vividly; James had created his stag first. Lily's doe had manifested half an hour later, and amidst all the teasing and sighing Severus had realised that he didn't dare keep trying to cast a Patronus in front of the others, not if they showed something so personal. He'd practiced alone in the Room of Requirement, and he had been dismayed and embarrassed but certainly not surprised when the silver doe had finally formed.

Flitwick blinked at the answer, but nodded and started making notes. "What was its form?"

"I'm not going to tell you that." Only two other people in the world knew about his Patronus; Dumbledore, and the wizard who had been his NEWT examiner. Severus didn't remember the man's name, but a professional invigilator would have seen so many students cast that spell that there was no chance he would remember an individual; besides, even if he did, he wouldn't know what it represented. And Dumbledore had promised long ago never to tell anyone.

His colleague made no attempt to argue; Filius had known him since he was eleven and knew how stubborn he could be when he needed to. "Very well. Has its form changed at all before?"

"No. Never." Whatever people might say about him, at least he was constant.

"And when did this change occur?"

"I don't know. I use this charm so seldom. I noticed it a few weeks ago; when I couldn't find anything by myself, I came to you."

"Hmm. Is it something to do with the memory you based it on?"

Severus shook his head. "I doubt it. I always use the same memory; it's never been an issue before. In any case, once this problem started, I tried other memories, and it's always the same." Flitwick looked mildly surprised when he heard that, as well he might; most wizards didn't rely on a single memory for their Patronus. Most wizards had a rather larger stock of happy memories to draw upon than Severus did.

"Well, I'm sorry, Severus, but I really don't know what to suggest. Has something happened in your life recently that might have influenced it?"

_Nothing that I'm ever going to tell you. _"Not really, no," he replied with deliberate vagueness. "But even if that was it, surely that would cause the Patronus to change forms, rather than stop working? Strong emotional upheaval can make it change, I know that, but it hasn't changed, it's broken." Which, when you thought about it, was quite ironic, really. He had wondered if the charm was somehow picking up on his emotional confusion – since he didn't know what he was feeling, maybe the Patronus didn't, either. He just hoped that since it hadn't actually changed, maybe it wasn't anything to do with... her after all. God, he hoped so, but he suspected he wasn't that lucky.

"Ordinarily, yes, you're right," the Charms teacher agreed, frowning again as he considered his notes. "It might simply be due to stress, you know. Your life isn't exactly easy at the moment."

He barked a laugh. "That's the understatement of the century, Filius, but no. I'm no more stressed now than I was six months ago."

The little wizard hesitated. "There is one possible theory, but you're not going to like it."

He narrowed his eyes. "Go on..."

"Well, the Patronus charm is perceived by many to be _the _definitive Light spell," Flitwick said slowly. "I assume that is why the Death Eaters are unable to cast it – which is why it was such a surprise to learn that you could. In any case, it is possible, maybe even probable, that those who regularly come into contact with the Dark Arts lose the ability to create a Patronus, as the dark magic destroys the pure positive impulses that create it..." He trailed off, clearly lacking the courage to ask the question.

Severus' lip curled. "I haven't done anything darker or more bloody than usual recently," he said coldly. "My soul is no more stained now than it was earlier this year." That was a lie, of course, but the stains and tears were due to cumulative damage, not an increase in severity. _Damn you, Flitwick. _Pushing down the pointless anger, he sighed. "That's not it, anyway. My Patronus is no weaker than it was. It just won't take solid form."

"That's true. I don't know what else to suggest, then, Severus. It may be that your Patronus is in the process of changing forms, for whatever reason – such changes are usually instantaneous, but given your circumstances, perhaps it will take time. All you can do is keep trying and see if anything changes. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."

"I wasn't expecting much," he muttered. "Thank you for trying, at least." He stood up.

"Was there anything else?"

"Just one thing," he said softly. It took only moments to cast three spells: a non-verbal _Accio_ followed bya non-verbal _Incendio_ to destroy the notes Flitwick had made, followed by a quiet, "_Obliviate,_" as he left the room.

_I'm sorry, Filius, but I can't afford to risk anyone else finding out about this. I don't trust anyone any more._

* * *

><p>Severus was very worried. He was in deep trouble now, from a source he could never have anticipated. He had expected problems and threats from all sides and had done what he could to prepare for them all, but there were no defences against this. Somewhere, somehow, Hermione Granger had become a bigger threat to him than even Voldemort, a threat inexplicably made all the more potent by the fact that nobody had any idea, least of all her.<p>

He didn't even know why. No, that was a lie. He tried not to lie to himself any more than strictly necessary to keep functioning. He knew exactly why, and that knowledge was eating him hollow.

Oh, there were lots of superficial reasons. The simplest explanation was purely that she was growing into a moderately attractive young woman and he hadn't been laid in a very long time, but that alone had never been enough for him, and he'd never paid that sort of attention to any of his students. She was smart, too, his intellectual equal if he ever actually made himself admit it, and that was a fairly powerful draw in itself. She was nice to him, as well, which was part of the real reason. And physically she wasn't a threat because she didn't look like anyone who carried negative associations from his past.

_You can't even admit she's pretty, Severus. What the fuck do you expect to happen?_

Fine, then, physically she was fairly attractive, at least to his eyes. Severus was a very good spy; he saw beyond the superficial. He could see beyond the bushy hair and the indifferent clothes, and he had always preferred the kind of woman who wasn't trying. If he had a physical type at all, he had to admit, he liked curvy brunettes anyway – Lily had been an anomaly, a wild card, and completely irrelevant in this context. He also had to admit that he had a soft spot for bossy women – look at his friends. But none of that mattered; the girl was hardly the first in his life to fit those criteria, and she was still too young for him to be seriously attracted – he tried to ignore the little voice that said _yet_.

Occlumency had started it, ironically enough. He'd seen enough of her mind over the weeks of lessons to gain a vivid impression of who she was. The strength and force of her personality was startling in a girl her age; that legendary Gryffindor courage was tempered by a healthy dose of the common sense that her friends so conspicuously lacked, giving her a certain clarity and sharpness of thought enhanced by her natural intelligence. Her sense of humour matched his own, as well, when she relaxed enough to be honest; she had a wry, sharp, quick wit that he liked, although she was gentler about it, less cutting and harsh than his jokes tended to be. There was a vitality about her, too, that showed up in the mental landscape as brightness approaching flame, a sense of life and energy and warmth, and she was so infuriatingly stubborn that perversely he'd come to like it instead of being annoyed by it. It was hard not to admire something like that, but even that wasn't the whole truth.

The reality was almost laughably simple. She cared about him. That was it, the secret either of his masters would have given their eye teeth to learn, the way to completely control Severus Snape; all anyone had ever had to do was care whether he lived or died. Not because his death might inconvenience them somehow, not because of what he could do or what they could get out of him, but simply for his own sake. Despite everything, Severus knew he had never outgrown the frightened, abused, lonely boy he had once been; all he had ever wanted was for someone to genuinely like him.

There were people in his life who cared, somewhat. Certainly Poppy would grieve when he died, and so would Minerva, and perhaps even Dumbledore to some extent – although he somewhat doubted that. Dilys and Phineas, too, he supposed, even if they were dead. Strangely, Lucius might, as well; he didn't trust his fellow Death Eater an inch, of course, but they were close enough friends for Severus to be Draco's godfather. But it had never been enough. There was no one person who thought of Severus Snape as an important part of their personal world, only as part of a larger plan; he wasn't personally significant to anyone.

That was where it broke down, of course. Granger cared about everyone; she probably cried over small lost baby birds, too. She had a natural Healer's fathomless compassion, and he shouldn't take it personally, because after all, why should anyone care about him, particularly someone like her, who had seen most of the worst bits of his grubby and tattered soul over the years? Still, he remembered with disturbing clarity the first time she had touched his hand and tried to ease his pain, for no reason except to make him feel better. She had still hated him at that point, he knew that for certain, and she had been worried that he would respond by losing his temper at her presumption, but she had wanted to make him feel better. That pure and innocent gesture had nearly reduced him to tears, he'd been that far gone.

Severus wasn't stupid, and he knew full well that this only existed in his own head; nothing would ever happen, for more reasons than he could easily list in an hour. That didn't matter. His feelings didn't require reciprocation to vindicate them, after all. At the moment, Granger saw him as her teacher, her sometime patient, her ally and possibly in some weird way her... friend. That was more than enough for him to live with quite happily, more than he had any right to expect, more than he could have hoped for. He had never bothered wasting time indulging himself with wistful thoughts of what could never be; it was enough that he could acknowledge what he might like, and then put it away and get on with what he actually had.

He wasn't worried about anyone else finding out, either. It wasn't as if concealing things was a challenge for him. Granger was very carefully hidden in the shadowy depths of his mind, along with everything else important enough to keep safe, and there she would stay. Nobody was capable of getting that deep into his head, because the sheer trauma of the attempt would have killed him long before anyone got that far. He'd see to that. As for finding out by more mundane methods, he wasn't worried about that, either; he was a far better actor now than he had been as a teenager, and Hell would freeze over before he admitted anything to anyone.

Nonetheless, he was worried. This could jeopardise the whole plan. The plan, as far as he understood it – Dumbledore was a sneaky bastard at times and sometimes Severus suspected the old buzzard of making it up as he went along a lot of the time; the Headmaster would never reveal the entire plan – was for Severus to continue spying and enduring unimaginable torments in order to gather enough information to keep Potter alive, while the rest of the Order strutted around feeling important and making overtures to various peoples who couldn't care less about the war and did their best to thwart the plans that he discovered along the way. Once Potter had learned enough, or done enough, or whatever the final plan was, the boy was then supposed to kill Voldemort – somehow.

By that point, Severus would be dead. Even if by some miracle Voldemort never discovered his treachery, he couldn't keep living like this indefinitely. He suspected that he had a couple more years at most before sheer cumulative damage finally killed him – if something more dramatic didn't carry him off before then, obviously – and he would probably have another mental breakdown before then. It was looking increasingly less likely that he would survive to see his fortieth birthday. That was fine. He'd known when he first knelt at Dumbledore's feet and swore to him that it would kill him eventually, because after all, double agents didn't often die of natural causes. That was the whole point, really; it hadn't mattered to him then. His own life meant nothing to him – in which case, he supposed, it was a little irrational to expect it to matter to anyone else – and he had always been quite happy to die if it meant bringing down Voldemort.

Only, now, he didn't want to.

That was the threat Hermione Granger posed to him. She had shown him that life wasn't quite as empty and hollow as he had always known it to be. Severus wasn't at all sure, now, that he could throw his life away so casually.

* * *

><p>Ordinarily, being called at almost two in the morning would have resulted in instant death for whoever had roused him, but unsurprisingly Severus hadn't been asleep. His insomnia was getting worse; he'd dozed briefly earlier in the evening, been woken by nightmares and hadn't bothered trying to go back to sleep. He was curled up in his battered armchair by the fire and re-reading <em>The Hunchback of Notre Dame <em>when Dilys' voice almost screamed his name from the picture on the wall. "Severus!"

Startled, more by the tone than the call, he glanced up. "What's wrong with you?"

"Get to the hospital wing. Now. Poppy needs your help."

Putting his book down, he stood and shrugged into his robe, finding his boots. "Tell me." His mind was racing; what on earth had happened? It was around the right time for Potter to do his annual stupidly-confronting-danger trick, admittedly...

"It's Minerva," Dilys said curtly, cutting off his speculation as he stared at her. "Poppy's not strong enough to help her alone. Move, Severus, please."

He moved, racing through the castle, a dark shadow slipping through the secret passages and hidden stairways that took him to the infirmary as quickly as possible. He was sweating by the time he got there, panting and hunching over to ease a stitch, and grew seriously worried when a white-faced Poppy barely stopped herself from hugging him. "What's wrong?" he asked urgently, fighting for breath.

Poppy led him to the bed and pulled aside the curtains. Minerva was unconscious and deathly pale, breathing very shallowly. "She's very weak," the nurse said shakily. "I need your help, Severus."

Nodding, he drew his wand. "What happened?"

"That bitch," the mediwitch spat. The sudden venom in her tone startled him, before he registered what she'd said and froze for a long moment.

"She did this?" he asked in a very dangerous tone of voice. Umbridge would die for it if she had. He'd take her head personally, pickle it in a jar for the shelves in his office, and give what was left to Greyback to play with. Or maybe he'd give her to Greyback _first, _and take her head afterwards.

"No, no," Poppy said tiredly. "Her thugs came for Hagrid tonight. Minerva went to try and stop them." She gestured at the unconscious witch helplessly. "Four Stunners direct to the chest at close range..." She didn't need to say anything else.

Severus nodded and started work, running a few quick diagnostics to assess the damage. "I can give her strength and stabilise her, but then she'll need to be taken to St Mungo's," he said quietly, studying the results. "I don't know how to treat this any more than you do. It's going to be all over the school by the end of breakfast tomorrow, too..."

"It's already all over the school," Poppy corrected him. "The fifth years had their Astronomy OWL tonight. They saw the whole thing from the tower. Examiner Tofty is furious; he's at the Ministry right now, kicking up a fuss."

"Why isn't there an army of Gryffindors outside the door, then?" he asked, beginning to move his wand in a series of quick, precise movements.

"Filius dealt with them, I believe. I'm sure they're all plotting her death right now, but at least they're quiet."

"They're not the only ones," Severus muttered through clenched teeth. He and Minerva weren't truly friends, more friendly rivals; she was as quick as anyone to suspect him when something serious happened, and the divide between Slytherin and Gryffindor was wide and deep, and both of them had too many memories of his student days to ever really be friends. But of all his colleagues, she was the one he got on with best, at least some of the time, and she was fundamentally part of Hogwarts; besides, now the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress were both absent, and the school was very vulnerable.

Trying to keep calm, he began the soft singsong chant of his own personal healing spells, concentrating on what he was doing as Poppy sorted through her healing potions. "Why isn't Miss Granger here?" he asked during a pause for breath.

"I thought she would be more use helping Mr Potter keep his temper," the nurse replied quietly. "She can't help with something like this yet, and there isn't much to see, and if Harry blows up again without his Head of House to protect him I don't know what will happen."

He nodded and carried on chanting, putting his wand down and resting his fingertips on Minerva's forehead, laying his other hand on the blankets over her stomach and concentrating on directing his magic, trying to keep hold of his temper. Regardless of how he actually felt about her, he'd miss her if anything happened, and the world would be a darker place to lose her.

"Who's in charge now?" Poppy asked him softly during another pause.

"The Headmistress," he replied sarcastically, and she slapped his shoulder.

"Don't blaspheme."

That earned her half a smile, albeit a slightly distracted one, and he shook his head. "Filius has seniority, but... we never actually discussed Minerva's successor, but I think it's probably supposed to be me. God help us all," he added. He'd never been convinced that he was capable of running the school, and he was so unpopular that actually the only chance he had was of being Deputy Headmaster under Umbridge; at least the students hated her more than they did him. Besides, he was a Death Eater, and he had no free time anyway. "It's almost the end of term. I'm inclined to let anarchy reign. Let Dolores reap what she has sown."

"Can we recall Albus?"

"I've no idea where he is, Poppy. He's not at Headquarters. Minerva was in contact with him, I assume, but I don't know for certain."

"Don't the Order have some sort of arrangement in place for situations like this?"

"How should I know?" he asked, a little bitterly, and resumed his quiet chanting again before she could respond. How the Order worked was nothing to do with him, he'd had that made perfectly clear to him ever since he'd first gone to Dumbledore and shown him the Dark Mark beginning to return. His job was to do as he was told, and nothing more.

He stared into his colleague's pale face as the spell rippled endlessly from his tongue. He was going to have Dolores Umbridge's head on a spike for this, he promised himself grimly, even if it took him years to manage it or if he died in the attempt.

* * *

><p><em>Next chapter might be a day later than usual, I'm not sure.<em>**  
><strong>


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey, look at that, I managed to update on time after all. Although a Halloween update would have been nicely ironic. Oh well. Action time! ...sort of.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Nothing has more strength than dire necessity."<strong>  
>– Euripedes.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Thank God it's almost the end of the year. <em>Severus was exhausted and actually looking forward to the holidays. Yes, his Death Eater activities would increase, but he'd be free the rest of the time and could catch up on his sleep; and, too, that helpful curse of his master's would hopefully kick in any day now and get rid of Umbridge. Severus was quite prepared to do it himself if Fate didn't seem to take a hand soon, especially since Minerva was now in St Mungo's after what those bastards had done. Umbridge hadn't named a deputy yet, which he was immensely thankful for because he really didn't want it to be him.

He completed the last form on the last piece of paperwork that needed to be done for the rest of the term and set his quill down with a flourish, sitting back and stretching in his chair and feeling quite pleased that it was out of the way. Standing up, he decided that he deserved a drink and was on the way to his comfortable old armchair when someone knocked at his office door and he nearly groaned. What did the little nuisances want now?

"Good evening, Draco," he greeted his godson, hiding his irritation. "What brings you here this evening?"

The boy smirked at him. "The Headmistress sent me, uncle." Severus overlooked the informal address; Draco had called him Uncle Severus since he was a toddler too young to pronounce it correctly, despite the fact that they weren't related. Usually he insisted on more formal titles in school, but there was nobody else in earshot, and in any case Draco's next words gave him something far more important to worry about: "We caught Potter and his little gang breaking in to her office, and she wants you to come and help."

_Oh, fuck. Potter, what the hell have you done now? _"How delightful," he drawled sarcastically. "It must be at least a week since he last did anything stupid. Very well, let us get this farce over with."

As he followed Draco through the castle, his mind was racing frantically, every instinct screaming at him that something was wrong. He'd been told to ignore any summons this evening, because Lucius and Bella were leading some sort of mission that he wasn't involved in, and he had to admit that he hadn't tried as hard as he could have done to find out what they were up to. His arm was prickling a bit, but it wasn't burning... yet.

Draco opened the door to Umbridge's office and Severus walked into insanity. He looked around from behind his Occlumency defences at quite a few of his students, all of whom seemed to be trying to murder Gryffindors, automatically noting them all; Granger was being half-crushed against the wall by Bulstrode, Weasley was bleeding on Warrington, Longbottom was being throttled by Crabbe. Interestingly, a couple of younger students seemed to be involved this time; Miss Weasley was struggling with Farley – he hadn't even realised she was one of Umbridge's thugs; she was a sixth year – and Goyle was looking as stupid as ever, since Lovegood was completely ignoring him and gazing interestedly at the wall with her usual vacant expression and looking somewhat out of place in her Ravenclaw tie. Potter stood at bay in the middle of all this, looking... well, rather crazed, which was a marginal improvement over his default expressions of either sulky or bewildered.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" he asked indifferently, managing not to choke on the title.

"Ah, Professor Snape," she greeted him, with what might have been a nice sunny smile on anyone else. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please."

_And I'd like to retire to a chateau in the south of France as a multi-millionaire, but that's about as likely as my taking up a new career as the newest member of the Chippendales. _He gave her a bland look, letting his hair fall forward to partially hide his expression. "You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter. Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient."

To his horrified amazement, she blushed, which was one of the more disturbing things he'd seen in the past year or two. "You can make some more, can't you?" she said in a voice one note away from simpering, and for a moment he thought he might actually be sick. Recently she had begun to remind him more and more of Bellatrix; they both took the same childlike delight in causing pain. Even if Umbridge still denied it to herself, it was in her, and growing stronger by the day.

"Certainly," he said coolly, sneering a little and doing his best to ignore the students, who were all staring at him. His Slytherins were grinning and most of the others looked horrified and furious, although no doubt Granger would be staring pleadingly at him if her face had been visible. He hoped she could still breathe; Bulstrode was a perfect example of why more students should take exercise, the girl was built like a wardrobe. "It takes a full moon-cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month," he added urbanely.

The look on her face was priceless, as Umbridge swelled in fury and squawked, "A month? A _month_?" in a voice straight out of one of the terrible cartoons from his childhood; she sounded like a Scooby Doo villain. "But I need it this evening, Snape!" _How sad for you, then. _"I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"

"Really?" he asked mildly. _Fuck, Potter, what do you think you're doing? _Turning, he looked at the boy, who – for once, by some miracle – actually seemed to understand and opened his eyes wide, staring directly back at him. Wandless and nonverbal Legilimency was very difficult even when he wasn't staring into Lily's green eyes, and Potter was so agitated that he couldn't identify the confused swirl of images. _I can't hear your thoughts, Potter. Show me, don't tell me... _"Well, it doesn't surprise me," he said absently, trying to ignore Umbridge and see what the boy was trying to show him. "Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules." _Damnit, boy, concentrate! I can't see! _There was something... a tall figure that he thought was the Dark Lord, and an indistinct buzz of noise...

"I wish to interrogate him!" Umbridge repeated in almost childish anger; he looked back at her for a moment despite himself, just to see whether she really was going to stamp her foot. "I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"

_Oh, shut the hell up, woman. _If the room hadn't been so full of students, he'd have Stunned her and let Potter talk to him, since obviously the boy was desperate, but he couldn't deal with so many. He replied evenly, not even really trying to hide his contempt any more, "I have already told you that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter – and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did – I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling."

Hoping that the boy would have calmed down a little, Severus looked back at him and re-formed the connection, struggling to make sense of the flood of images churning through Potter's mind. The boy was actually sweating, he was trying that hard, but he was still focused on _mind reading _and was obviously trying to send words instead of just concentrating on images. He wished that Granger wasn't still buried behind Bulstrode; she had learned how to keep her head and would hopefully be able to tell him what the hell was going on.

"You are on probation!" Umbridge shrieked at him, and he turned very slowly to face her, raising his eyebrows. _Oh, you did not just say that to me, bitch... _"You are being deliberately unhelpful!" _Well spotted. Only eight months after I started being unhelpful, too. _"I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you!" _No doubt he does. His speaking highly of me got me the Dark Mark, God help us all. _"Now get out of my office!" _Gladly._

He bowed to her as sarcastically as he could manage and turned on his heel, and Potter yelled at his back, his voice high and shaky with desperation. "He's got Padfoot!" _What? _He froze, not daring to look around, and the boy continued frantically, "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!"

Under other circumstances, Severus would have been reluctantly impressed that Potter had finally learned something approaching secrecy and subtlety, but right now his guts had turned to ice water as he absorbed the implication of his words.

"Padfoot?" Umbridge shrilled at him. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?"

He turned slowly, focusing on keeping his face expressionless, raising his eyebrows in an attempt at innocent surprise as his mind began to race. "I have no idea," he lied coldly. "Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage." Turning away again, he added witheringly, "And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job."

Closing the door behind him, he walked at a measured pace through the corridors, thinking furiously. Black had been captured? How? Grimmauld Place was inviolate; there was no way they'd got the location from Dumbledore. Had Black sneaked out again and been caught? It was possible, but even though the dog was undeniably that stupid nobody else would have let him.

No, this all stank like week-dead fish. Apart from anything else, if there had been some plot to take Black, he would have been involved; the Dark Lord knew how much they loathed one another and would have permitted Severus to join in the fun. And even if he had been caught, why take him to the Department of Mysteries? Nothing in there would do them any good... unless they were to lure Potter there. By, for example, threatening his godfather.

All right, fine. But how did Potter know? And why had he been trying to use the fire to speak to someone? Severus worried at his lower lip with his teeth, biting hard enough to hurt as he thought. Shit, shit, shit! He had to find out what was going on. Pausing at the nearest portrait, he spoke crisply to the stern-looking wizard in the frame, some distant Transfiguration expert he couldn't remember the name of. "Find Phineas Nigellus' portrait and tell him I need to speak to him urgently."

"What's so important?" the former Headmaster asked huffily.

Trying not to think about what Umbridge might be doing to the children, Severus snapped, "Get to your other frame and tell me where Black is. _Now._"

Phineas went, grudgingly, and came back only a minute later. "Sulking in the Hippogriff's room as usual. Why?"

Almost collapsing with relief, Severus shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I just needed to be sure he was there." Ignoring the portrait's anger, he turned and walked away, heading back to the toad's office to try and make sure she didn't kill any of the students, so he could tell Potter that it wasn't true.

When he walked in, he found his Slytherins all nursing various lumps and bruises and arguing with each other, and not a Gryffindor – or a Ravenclaw – in sight. _Oh, for fuck's sake, what's happened now? _"What on earth have you all been doing?" he inquired, perversely tempted to laugh.

That desire only increased when a whining and indignant Draco told him what had happened. Granger had pulled off what sounded like an Oscar-worthy performance, and one he was sorry to have missed, and had successfully lured the toad off into the Forbidden Forest with her and Potter, at which point their little friends had neatly fought off the so-called Inquisitorial Squad and scarpered.

"Well, you have all covered yourselves in glory tonight," he said scathingly, looking at the sorry bunch of students staring back at him with sullen expressions. "This is what you get for being lapdogs for someone like her. I have absolutely no sympathy – particularly not with you two," he added witheringly, staring at Farley and Goyle, "being defeated by a pair of fourth-years, one of whom is only nominally on the same planet as the rest of us."

Lovegood's Potions work was... unique, to say the least, but at least she never caused explosions. She _had _drugged half her class on one memorable occasion, filling the lab with fumes that had simulated an LSD trip and had most of them babbling confusedly about tentacles coming through the windows – he still wasn't quite sure about that one; the dungeons didn't _have _windows – but at least those lessons were never dull, and her homework could be absolutely hilarious at times.

"But sir," Draco protested, "the Headmistress – Potter – shouldn't we...?"

"It's only Potter and Granger. I'm sure the Ministry's finest will manage," he replied with delicate mockery, wondering with vicious glee just what the girl had planned in her bushy head. He'd be bitterly disappointed with her if it wasn't something wonderful. "Get to your common room. I will sort out this mess. And if any of you put so much as a toe outside the portal before morning, you will be very sorry indeed. Do I make myself clear?" Despite popular opinion, he didn't let his students get away with everything. In private, he was as hard on them as he could be without jeopardising his position, and he did punish them when they deserved it.

That earned him a chorus of sulky "Yes, sir," as the Inquisitorial Squad slunk off with their tails between their legs. Breathing out slowly, Severus rubbed his eyes and left, heading to the walltops and staring out at the darkened forest, wondering what was going on out there.

After a while he saw that _something _was happening; he could very faintly hear sounds, and the disturbance even sent some of the Thestrals soaring away. Whatever plan Granger had come up with, it had obviously been quite spectacular; he looked forward to hearing about it.

* * *

><p>Gradually as the sky darkened Severus started to get uneasy. His arm had burned briefly once or twice, so obviously Lucius and Bella's mission was under way, but his responsibility right now was the school. Finally he saw movement at the edge of the tree line, and squinted into the shadows until he recognised Firenze; the pale centaur was carrying someone slung over his back, and he was alone. Ice slid down his spine as he saw Umbridge; <em>where are the children? Oh, God.<em>

He knew that Black hadn't been taken, but Potter had been convinced; the boy had sounded terrified and had even been desperate enough to ask _him _for help. Abruptly he realised; _Occlumency. You stupid little shit, you never did learn to close your mind! _Oh, bloody buggering hell. The Dark Lord had realised how to use their connection to his advantage, and had sent the boy a false dream telling him that his godfather had been kidnapped and was being held in the Department of Mysteries. They were counting on Potter to be a Gryffindor; with Dumbledore and Minerva both gone, there was nobody left at Hogwarts the boy would trust, so naturally he would go running off there himself.

And he'd find Lucius and Bella waiting for him.

His Patronus wasn't working any more, even if he was willing to let anyone else in the Order see it, and with Minerva gone there was nobody else here he would trust with this, so he'd either have to risk leaving the school unguarded and in Umbridge's hands – not an option, and it would take too long anyway – or use the one fire that the toad didn't have access to, in Dumbledore's office. Turning, he walked as fast as he dared through the corridors until he reached the gargoyles, who gave him a long look before letting him pass without waiting for the password.

"Severus, what's going on?" Dilys asked from the wall.

He ignored her, dropping to his knees on the rug and lighting the fire and cursing Dumbledore for not giving them a way to contact him. Although admittedly the Headmaster couldn't have known that his Patronus would stop working, or that Minerva would be injured badly enough to have to leave the school, or... Shaking his head, he threw a handful of powder into the flames and shoved his head into the fire. "Twelve Grimmauld Place! Hello, the Order! Tell me someone's home!"

"Keep your greasy hair on, Snivellus, before it catches fire. What's so damned urgent?"

"Black, I never dreamed that I would ever say this, but I'm actually glad to hear your voice," he replied with a shudder, glancing swiftly around the kitchen. Tonks, Lupin, Shacklebolt, Moody and Black; perfect. "Listen to me. A trap has been set up for Potter; the Dark Lord has convinced him that you've been taken and that you're being held in the Department of Mysteries. I think he and his little friends have gone haring off to save you."

"What? Snape –"

"I only found out tonight. _I had no knowledge of this! _I didn't think he'd believed it either, but he's disappeared with a lot of his friends from their stupid Defence group. Send out the bloody cavalry. And where the hell is Dumbledore?"

"He's due here any minute, actually," Kingsley said.

"Oh, how good of him to join us," Severus spat, relieved and angry in equal measure. "Black, stay put and tell him what's happened. The rest of you had better get over there."

"Shut up, Snivellus. I'm not staying here while my godson's in danger. I'm not as much of a coward as you are."

"I don't have time to watch you straining for a new insult," he retorted, biting his lip for a moment as his arm burned again. "Get moving. I've got to try and hold things together here and try to find out if they're still in the Forbidden Forest, although I doubt it." He yanked his head back out of the flames before anyone could say anything else and turned to find every single portrait staring at him. "Those of you with portraits at the Ministry, keep watch there," he ordered, hurrying to the door.

He didn't want to get Umbridge to the Infirmary; she could lie on the floor and bleed to death for all he cared, although she actually wasn't that badly hurt when he relented and dragged her up there – unashamedly bouncing her off a few walls on the way. Turning her over to Poppy, he roamed briefly around the castle to make sure the other students were all behaving themselves before heading out into the grounds to begin the utterly impossible task of searching the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

><p>"I hate trees," he muttered to himself some time later, pausing for a moment to catch his breath and cursing irritably. He was a city boy at heart and he didn't much like the forest; he'd never been in the Cubs or the Scouts and had never wanted to be, and most of his experience of woods consisted of climbing one of three scrubby trees at the edge of the local playground every so often. Half the time he'd fallen out of it, too, or been pushed out by one of the bigger boys.<p>

Apart from anything else, he couldn't fucking _see. _The moon was up, but it wasn't anywhere near full – just as well; there were no werewolves in the Forest, only rumours and noises, but try telling his phobia that – and it was nearly pitch black. _Lumos _just filled the place with weird flickering shadows that had him jumping out of his skin all the time because he thought he'd seen something sneaking up on him. He was sticking to the trails where possible, but only Hagrid knew all the paths in here. "Of course," he muttered sourly, "anyone else wouldn't be able to go three feet without tripping over helpful centaurs or good faeries or bloody talking squirrels or something." But no, not him. Pretty much everything in the Forest was both supernatural and highly intelligent, and nothing was going to approach anyone who reeked that strongly of Dark Magic. They all knew he had the Dark Mark – bloody Firenze wouldn't even look at him, and for once he had actually tried to be polite, even if just to annoy Umbridge. Death Eaters were on their own. Even the dangerous creatures avoided him, since he was too skinny to provide much of a meal.

At this point he'd even welcome being attacked by something just so he could burn off a bit of adrenaline. He was more than capable of killing anything in these woods and it might help him calm down. Bloody trees. Bloody Gryffindors. Bloody Harry bloody Potter and his bloody stupid friends. By now he was grimly certain that they were definitely not still here and that they really had unbelievably gone haring off to London chasing moonbeams. This was pointless; he might as well go back to the castle. Maybe he'd get lucky and find out that Umbridge had died of her injuries.

Without a helpful trail of breadcrumbs or something, he had no hope of searching the entire Forest anyway; he wasn't even sure how big it was. Maybe if he'd taken to the air and tried to search in a grid pattern, but his chances of seeing anything at all under the canopy were nil, especially after dark. Knowing his luck he'd probably be attacked by a Thestral, or something worse; besides, he didn't actually like flying. Oh, it was useful enough, and it certainly looked impressive, but learning how to do it had been rather unpleasant and almost fatal. He could Summon one of the castle brooms, of course, but they were all frankly shit since so many students used their own.

Scowling, he admitted defeat and trudged back to the school to take up position on the battlements, pacing back and forth and waiting for something to happen; with nothing else to do, he finally allowed himself to panic as his arm burned again, telling himself firmly once more that it _wasn't _Hermione Granger he was most worried about.

* * *

><p>Severus nearly passed out when Dumbledore's ridiculously flamboyant phoenix Patronus reached him to inform him that they were on their way back. It had been almost the worst evening of his life, spent wearing a hole in the battlements and panicking horribly, flashing back to the last night a Gryffindor he cared about had been in danger and he'd been left helpless with no way of knowing what was happening. He'd chewed his lip to ribbons, struck his knuckles bloody against the stone and scratched his arm raw, more frightened than he had been for a very long time.<p>

The only productive thing he had done in the past few hours was to silently award Gryffindor twenty points for what Granger had done to the toad woman. That had been sheer malevolent genius. Perhaps it had used up all her intelligence, since that was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with to justify why she had then gone skipping after Potter into the jaws of death instead of, for example, Stunning the reckless idiot and coming to see him to find out what was really happening. He had spent the rest of the time stewing in impotent, helpless anger, every nerve on edge as he waited tensely for his arm to burn, and in the end had removed those twenty points again plus a few more out of sheer terrified frustration.

He saw the Headmaster for a grand total of three minutes, long enough for the old man to tell him wearily that the children were all back safely and that they could talk more when everything was done. "I believe Poppy may need your assistance in the Infirmary," Dumbledore added, before taking himself off to – hopefully – shake some sense into Harry sodding Potter and give the boy a long-overdue thrashing. Severus felt his stomach tighten – there had been casualties? – and all but ran up the countless flights of stairs between the dungeons and the hospital wing, cursing his all too vivid imagination as his mind filled with images of bloody horror.

"Poppy?"

"Severus, thank Merlin," the nurse said tiredly when she saw him.

"Who was hurt?"

"It's mostly just cuts and bruises; Miss Lovegood had a broken ankle, and Mr Longbottom a broken nose. I'd like you to look at Mr Weasley and Miss Granger..." She blinked and said hastily, "Relax, Severus, she isn't too badly hurt."

Severus took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. _Don't do that, woman! Are you trying to give me heart failure? _"Then why do you need me?" he asked acidly.

"Because I don't recognise the curse used, not because the injury is life threatening," she told him crisply in response. "Mr Weasley is more serious. That way. Now, Severus," she added warningly. He scowled at her, but reluctantly did as he was told, although frankly he could care less what had happened to the boy.

Under other circumstances, he might have found Weasley's injuries more interesting. As it was, dittany would take care of the wounds with minimal scarring, and he had other things on his mind right now. Unlike her red-headed idiot of a friend, Granger was conscious; she flinched when he stepped through the curtains around her bed and her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered hoarsely. "I tried – I thought... he said it was working, that he'd listened to me – I..."

"It isn't your fault," he replied softly, shaking his head. It wasn't her fault that her friend was a moron and a liar. "I thought he was working on his Occlumency as well. And I knew nothing of this plan." _Although I should have done. _Did this mean that Voldemort no longer trusted him, or had this been some sort of test, or...? Never mind that now. Focus on what he could deal with, and worry about the rest another time. He gave her a stern look as he moved to the side of the bed. "You shouldn't have gone with him."

"I couldn't have let him go alone..."

"None of you should have gone," he said curtly; it took every scrap of self-control he possessed to resist the urge to shake the girl and start yelling at her. Bloody stupid, impossible Gryffindors and their reckless protective loyalty! He possessed that particular trait himself, which meant that he was all too aware of how idiotic it was, and he hadn't been so scared in a very long time, damnit.

"We tried to check whether it was true or not," she replied, somewhat incoherently now as she started crying in earnest. "Umbridge caught us after we'd contacted Headquarters. Kreacher said Sirius had been taken..."

_Did he, indeed... _Severus filed that away for later consideration. At least she'd had enough sense to try and find out what was really happening. Almost absently placing a couple of spells on the curtains to give them some privacy, he sat on the edge of the bed. "Miss Granger, please stop crying," he said tiredly. "It has been a long and trying night for all of us and you will only make yourself feel worse. You are not to blame. Now, Poppy tells me you are hurt. I need to see."

Of course, just telling a child to stop crying didn't mean it would happen. He'd been a teacher long enough to know that. Trying not to sigh too dramatically, he found a handkerchief in his pocket and sternly ordered her to blow her nose and pull herself together and tell him where she was hurt. It took some time before she managed a coherent reply, and when she did he rather wished she hadn't. "...My chest."

Severus silently cursed his imagination and resolutely kept his eyes on her face. "Where, exactly?" he asked levelly as his mind started veering wildly between fascination and horror. _Damnit, Poppy. You could have warned me. I'm _so _not in the mood for this. _She gestured vaguely at the hospital nightgown the mediwitch had forced her into, and he sighed and rephrased the question, keeping his voice even. "Is it visible without removing your undergarments?"

Granger nodded, sniffing inelegantly and yet still obviously trying not to blush despite being blotchy from crying. He didn't blame her for being embarrassed, really; he hated being exposed even slightly in front of anyone else, and were he in her position he certainly wouldn't want someone like him staring. "Then I still need to see. I can call Poppy in here if you wish..."

She shook her head, closing her eyes as though that would make it less awkward for her, and fumbled with the neck of the nightgown, wincing as she carefully pulled the cloth away. Severus leaned closer, focusing on the wound, and was relieved to find that it wasn't as bad as his imagination had been suggesting. It was still bad enough, though, a long gouge somewhere between a cut and a burn that began below her collarbone and slanted diagonally across her sternum to finish just above the edge of her bra.

"How badly does it hurt?" he asked, lighting the tip of his wand for a closer look, trying to be as dispassionate as possible and cursing himself for a bastard at the same time. _It's not my fault, _he told himself defensively; whatever else he might be, he was still a man, and he hadn't been laid in – well, years, which was bloody embarrassing and rather sad, and he was very tired and not up to his usual levels of mental discipline. It also wasn't part of his regular routine to have to examine a teenage girl's cleavage; in fact, that hadn't happened since he'd been a teenager himself. As a young male teacher he'd had to grow accustomed to being around teenage girls a lot, but really, there were limits.

"...Six? Seven?" she said finally, distracting him and bringing his mind back to the present.

He blinked at her and she smiled very shakily at him. His lips twitched in response and he shook his head. _Blasted Gryffindors. _Sometimes – very, very rarely, but sometimes – one of them did deserve their reputation for bravery. "Ordinarily I would say that a student capable of cheek is not badly hurt. But given that it is you, Miss Granger, I find myself wondering whether I should check for head injuries as well."

That earned him a choked sound that might have been laughter punctuated by a sob. "How are the others?"

"Already on the mend," he assured her. "Now shut up and let me concentrate. This won't hurt." He knew the spell that had been used, but whoever had cast it couldn't aim for toffee. If the hex had been used properly, Granger would be dying right now. As it was... He began to slowly move his wand back and forth across the wound and started chanting softly. Poppy had been badgering him for years to find out exactly what this spell was, but he had no intention of telling her or anyone else.

She cried out softly. "You said it wouldn't hurt!"

"I lied," he replied calmly, pausing for a moment and regarding her with a raised eyebrow. "Keep still. It went deeper than I thought and you have at least one cracked rib, and enough internal damage that you are going to be in bed for most of the rest of the term and drinking a lot of potions." He resumed the quiet singsong chant, ignoring all further protests, and finally drew away with a sigh. "I have done what I can, Miss Granger, but I fear you have earned your first battle scar."

Understandably, she looked upset by this, and when combined with everything else she had been through today it wasn't much of a surprise when she started crying again as she fumbled to do up her nightgown once more. He had noticed years ago that she paid little to no attention to her appearance, but even people who weren't vain hated scars, and all teenagers had fragile egos. "There will be some improvement," he told her quietly. "It is only half healed. It is better to leave it to heal slowly now that you are free of pain and there is no risk of it reopening. But you will always bear a scar." Sympathy only went so far, though. His skin looked like someone had drawn a noughts and crosses grid on a Picasso sketch of a hopscotch course; he'd gained his first permanent scar before he was out of single digits. "You should try to sleep, if you can," he told her, giving her his handkerchief again and standing up.

About to leave, he paused and looked back at her, hesitating for a moment as he debated with himself. "Who was it?" he asked finally.

The girl looked exhausted; her eyes looked huge and dark in her too-pale face as she stared numbly at him. "Dolohov," she whispered at last, so quietly that he had to strain to hear her.

_Dolohov, _Severus repeated to himself thoughtfully. That explained the dodgy aim, at least; the man was a complete imbecile, although he had once been a force to be reckoned with, before Azkaban. "Get some sleep, Miss Granger," he said softly. "Under the circumstances, you did well." And even if he didn't want to admit it, he was very relieved to see that she was all right.

"Thank you, sir."

As he left the Infirmary, Severus froze half way down the stairs, pain flaring in his left arm at last. It seemed that Voldemort had finally realised that his spy was absent. His master was not going to be pleased. Suppressing a shiver, he checked his pockets to make sure he had his robe and mask with him and changed direction, heading for the front door. _No rest for the wicked._

* * *

><p>Hermione woke in darkness and found that Crookshanks had unerringly managed to find his way to the hospital wing; his warm weight on her legs and the faint vibration of his purr helped ease the ache in her chest that was only partly caused by the still-tender place where she had been hurt. At the time, she'd been sky-high on adrenaline and unable to stop and think; now, though, she could appreciate just how close they had all come to lingering and painful deaths. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Voldemort; Harry's descriptions hadn't been given willingly and had utterly failed to convey the reality.<p>

Slowly, as she stroked her familiar's warm thick fur, she became aware of voices nearby and began straining to listen. Crookshanks lifted his head to look at her, then jumped down off the bed and disappeared through the curtains; the faint voices grew louder and she realised he must have nudged the door ajar before he returned to the bed and curled up again.

"Good boy," she whispered, rubbing his ears and listening.

"I told you, there is nothing else to report, Headmaster." That voice was easily recognisable; Snape, sounding utterly exhausted and with a rough scratchiness to his usually velvety voice that didn't bode well. He must have been Summoned after he had left her, and there was no way it could have gone well, under the circumstances; he was probably here for Poppy's help, rather than to talk to his employer, although it didn't show in his voice as he continued speaking hoarsely. "He was... rabid. He said nothing of any value. He barely said anything except curses or obscenities. I can give you nothing until he has calmed down."

"Nothing," someone else hissed; it sounded familiar but it wasn't until the man spoke again that she recognised Moody. "What good is that, Snape? We need to find out what he's going to do now."

"He can do very little until we've all recovered," Snape replied wearily. "He nearly killed both Bellatrix and Lucius tonight; angry though he is with them, they are his lieutenants and he needs them, although his focus on them did at least spare the rest of us too much damage. In any case, there is little he can do anyway. The Ministry was a gamble and it didn't pay off."

"You dismiss it so casually." The thick voice was choked with bitterness, so much so that Hermione didn't recognise it.

"Remus," the Headmaster said softly. "Please keep your voice down."

"Damnit, Albus, look at him. He doesn't care what happened."

"Why should I?" Snape asked coolly. Yes, Hermione decided, listening to him, he definitely had a sore throat at the moment. "We won, didn't we? The Dark Lord didn't get what he wanted and, astoundingly, the children survived their first battle through sheer dumb luck. We even managed to shove Umbridge out of place and hopefully convinced the Ministry to stop getting in our way. I fail to see the downside."

"No, of course you don't! You probably danced a jig when nobody could see you! I bet you were laughing. Finally got what you wanted, didn't you, Snape?"

"Lupin," Snape said in a surprisingly patient voice, "I have no earthly notion what you are babbling about, and right now I don't really care. I haven't slept properly in days and I can barely see straight. Can we please end this meeting so I can go to bed for an hour or so before I have to return to work?"

"I'm talking about Sirius, you bastard!"

"Whatever for?"

"_Because he's dead!_"

There was a very long silence. Hermione was leaning so far out of bed that she was in danger of falling on the floor, straining to hear something, ignoring the renewed ache in her chest as she closed her eyes to better concentrate on her sense of hearing.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she heard Snape speak again. "Black is dead?" he said blankly. From the tone of his voice, he almost didn't seem to understand what the sentence meant.

"As if you didn't know," Moody growled. "Remus is right, you were probably dancin' for joy."

"I... didn't know." Snape still sounded oddly confused.

"Liar!"

"I didn't know," he repeated, sounding annoyed now. "I don't know a damned thing that happened. All I know is that Potter got a vision of the mutt in trouble, that creep of a house elf lied to him and he and his little friends went dashing off into trouble. Bella and Lucius were waiting for them, with friends, and there was a fight. They are hurt and the Dark Lord is furious. That is _all_ I know." The anger faded slowly. "Black is dead..." he repeated thoughtfully, almost trying out the sound of the words. It really seemed as though he was having trouble getting his mind around the idea.

"Yes," the Headmaster said quietly. "Sirius was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange."

Quite a lot of sounds happened almost simultaneously. It almost sounded like Snape had laughed incredulously, and from the sound of it either Lupin or Moody or both had attempted to hex him, or hit him, or something, which he had understandably objected to. Dumbledore intervened before anything could happen, reminding them all sternly to keep their voices down before dismissing the other two Order members, leaving himself alone with Snape in the corridor.

"So, another of the Marauders is dead," Snape said reflectively.

"There is no need to sound so cheerful, Severus," Dumbledore said tiredly. He sounded sad, especially when compared to the Potions master.

"Should I be crying for him?" Snape wanted to know; the acid edge to his voice couldn't hide the scratchiness that was roughening the usual silky tones. "I will mourn him about as much as he would have mourned me had our positions been reversed."

"I know you wanted him dead..."

"No, I didn't," Snape interrupted unexpectedly. "If I had wanted him dead, I would have killed him. He wasn't important enough to the plan for me to let him live, if I truly wanted him to die. I have never viewed murder lightly, Dumbledore." The bitterness in his voice was unmistakeable. "He wasn't worth the price."

"Sirius was a good man."

"Better than I? No, don't answer that. I don't want to hear you say it, nor do I want to hear you lie to me yet again." Snape sighed. "It's half past five in the bloody morning, Dumbledore. I'm not in the mood. There's no point my trying to sleep now, so let's move on; I want to talk to Poppy soon. Did they overhear any of the prophecy?"

Hermione stared towards the door, straining her ears again as the Headmaster replied, "No, nobody did, which is perhaps for the best at the moment."

"Are you ever going to tell me the part I don't know?" Snape asked, and Hermione nearly fell off the edge of her bed in shock. _Snape_ knew part of the prophecy? From what little had been said, she knew Voldemort knew part of it and had been trying to find out the other part, but how did Snape know? Surely he hadn't told any of the Death Eaters? And the Headmaster knew the whole thing?

"Not unless I have no other choice, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "I don't intend you to be involved in the final stages."

That made Hermione frown, but Snape's only response was to sigh, evidently neither surprised nor particularly angered by that somewhat odd answer. "No, I suppose not. As you wish, Headmaster. Now, what do you want me to tell the Slytherins?"

Their voices faded as the two men walked away, and Hermione managed to squirm back into bed without hurting her chest too much, too tired to think about what she had heard right now. It would have to wait. Poppy had left her a mild sleeping draught; she took it, hoping it would push her dreams too deep to be remembered when she woke up, and let exhaustion drag her under.

* * *

><p>So, Sirius Black was dead. Severus looked around his rooms in a pensive frame of mind as he thought about that; he really wasn't sure how he felt. He certainly wasn't upset, though – why should he mourn for someone he had hated so intensely? And he had truly hated Black, on a visceral and almost primal level that nobody else could possibly hope to understand. He felt that he was entitled to, all things considered. After all, Black had made his life a living hell virtually single-handed, him and James Potter. Their constant, unceasing and unrelenting harassment was one of the main driving forces that had led him to pick up a knife aged sixteen and open his wrists. Not the whole reason, but a large part of it. He glanced briefly at the faded, barely-visible marks left by that attempt and shrugged.<p>

Dumbledore had been surprised that he and Black were still so much at odds with one another. The old man had assumed that Severus' hatred stemmed from his incorrect belief that it had been Sirius who had betrayed Lily, and that once he found out that he had been mistaken he would be willing to lay aside their schoolboy grudge and make peace. Severus sighed; the Headmaster _still_ hadn't realised how much that November night in their sixth year had damaged him. Whatever anyone else might say about it, Black had tried to kill him, and for no real reason. Nobody had given a shit then, and nobody gave a shit now.

Nobody understood the real reason why he had hated Sirius Black, either. Severus himself hadn't understood it for many years, but he was getting pretty good at self-analysis now and had finally figured it out a year or so ago. It was jealousy, pure and simple. Not over looks, or money, or friends, or anything so stupidly mundane, but simply because everyone made excuses for Black and nobody did the same for Severus. Anything Black did wrong was explained away, justified and excused and forgiven, regardless of what had happened or who was hurt – the boy hadn't had a nice childhood, he should be praised for trying to get away from his upbringing, he wasn't a bad person at heart, blah, blah, blah. Everyone fell all over themselves to justify his actions.

But Severus? No chance. Not the greasy little oddball that everyone hated, the strange boy with no friends and such a spiteful tongue. Nobody cared what his motivations might have been. Nobody had bothered to find out that he hadn't had a nice childhood either and everyone had assumed that he _was _bad at heart. Even Lily had always been quick to believe the worst of him. That old injustice still rankled. At the beginning of the story, he hadn't done anything wrong. Somehow, James Potter and Sirius Black had decided that Severus Snape was their enemy, and he had never understood why, and he still remembered vividly the confused hurt bewilderment of realising just how much they hated him for... nothing. Once the feud had got under way he had fought back with everything he had, and he had definitely been far from innocent by the time they had graduated, but he hadn't started it and hadn't wanted it. But nobody else believed that. Obviously the golden Gryffindors couldn't be to blame; it must be the creepy little Slytherin boy who had started it, with his dirty hair and his sly looks – apparently people believed he was stupid enough to have single-handedly started a war with the most popular gang in the school. After a while, it was easier to go along with the stereotype rather than trying to argue.

He and Black did have a disturbing amount in common, sometimes, if you looked at it from the right angle, but they had never been treated equally. That was the real reason behind his hatred, even now. Black could break into the castle, attack the Fat Lady's portrait, steal from Longbottom, terrify Weasley into hysterics and later break the boy's leg, and somehow that was fine – he had never even been scolded for any of it. He could endanger the entire Order of the Phoenix out of sheer boredom, and that was totally acceptable. Severus didn't want to even begin to imagine what would have happened if he'd done any of those things. Half his colleagues still believed he'd been trying to jinx Potter Junior in that stupid Quidditch match in the boy's first year despite Potter himself getting a confession from Quirrell, and he'd received nothing but condemnation for battling his own fear to chase after a werewolf unprotected by Wolfsbane in order to try and save the children from what, at the time, he had thought was a very serious threat. Nothing he did was ever good enough, but everything the precious Marauders touched turned to gold, regardless of the facts or the circumstances, and he wasn't even allowed to be angry about it.

No, he wasn't going to mourn Black for a second. But he didn't feel particularly pleased, either. His hate had long since turned cold; he didn't really care any more. He wasn't going to stop hating the other man, wasn't going to forgive or forget the past just because he was dead, so his being dead was largely irrelevant. He hadn't wanted Black dead, necessarily, but he hadn't wanted him alive either. Yes, all right, there was a small dark corner of him that was laughing in malicious delight, and he couldn't deny that part of him was happy that the bastard was dead at last and had finally got what he fucking well deserved, as well as being privately a little disappointed that he hadn't been there to see it, but he was good at ignoring that part of him.

And Black hadn't been contributing anything important to the war – hell, if all the Order wanted was a depressing dirty house full of bad memories and cursed objects, they could have Spinner's End if they wanted. All the former prisoner had been doing was moping around whining and feeling sorry for himself, and occasionally pulling a stupid stunt that endangered the people around him, before finally charging off and getting killed in a suitably heroic and Gryffindorish fashion.

Good riddance, as far as Severus was concerned. The man had been unstable, and his death was no big loss, except that it would probably make Potter even more unbearable to be around. It was a pity that Bella had been the one to do it – he was opposed to anything that made the psychotic bitch happy on general principles. He didn't wish it had been him instead, though; he certainly wouldn't have hesitated for a heartbeat if it had been, and nothing on this earth could have made him try to intervene, but as he had told Dumbledore, if he had wanted Black dead he would have killed him already. Killing him wouldn't have changed anything; it wouldn't have been revenge for anything that had happened before, because none of that could be avenged. It didn't matter now.

Two down, two to go; there were only two Marauders left alive. Lupin... well, Severus despised the werewolf, but he didn't hate him, not truly. It wasn't really Lupin's fault that he had been too much of a coward to try and stop his friends, and he had never really blamed him for the Shrieking Shack – at least, not the first time around. Lupin had been as spiteful as his friends on occasion, but he didn't have the heart to be a real bully, and Severus couldn't be bothered to hate him any more, except perhaps for the Boggart incident, and he'd paid him back for that by outing him. Pettigrew, though... that was another story. Pettigrew had betrayed Lily, after all.

_Christ, I'm tired. _He rubbed his eyes, too tired now to feel the pain from earlier as the adrenaline finally deserted him. Stumbling blindly to his bedroom, he collapsed fully clothed across the bed and passed out.

* * *

><p><em>Wasn't that fun? Term ends next chapter, and we've got a busy summer ahead before sixth year begins<strong>.<strong>_**  
><strong>


	13. Chapter 13

_Ah, Slytherins... they can be very sneaky at times, you know. This chapter is the first deviation from canon aside from the Healing lessons.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"I smile when I'm angry, I cheat and I lie<br>I do what I have to do to get by  
>But I know what is wrong and I know what is right<br>And I'd die for the truth in my secret life."**  
>– Leonard Cohen, 'Secret Life'.<p>

* * *

><p>Being in the hospital wing was boring; Hermione had known that since second year. Her chest ached constantly and everything was in such chaos that most of the time she only had Crookshanks for company. She also had a great deal to think about; so much had happened in the last week or so that her head was still spinning.<p>

Taking it in chronological order, the first major upheaval had been the peculiar shift in her strange association with Snape. Their Occlumency fight had apparently been a catalyst for something she didn't understand. Before that, she would have said that anyone who stood up to Snape and implied however subtly that he had been wrong would have been verbally disembowelled – possibly even literally – and generally made to pay for it until they were old and grey, but for some reason he had seemed oddly impressed, almost as if he respected her for doing it. His attitude since then hadn't seemed any different, but there had been a thoughtful quality to the silence between them each morning.

After some thought, she had cautiously decided that it had simply been a very long time since anyone had dared argue back. Suicidal students might protest, and she was sure some of the other teachers would have criticised some of his actions over the years, but someone joining in and using his own methods against him must be very rare and perhaps the sheer novelty value had saved her. It also seemed that, bizarrely, he had actually felt ashamed of himself after saying it to her last year. It was nice to know he did sometimes regret his actions, but it would be nicer if he could refrain from doing it in the first place. The incident also helped her clarify that the times she saw him outside lessons didn't count as part of normal life; she could get away with some things privately that would draw the wrath of Hell down on her in front of witnesses. Snape on his own seemed a very different person from Snape in public view, which was worth bearing in mind.

The next major incident had been the Weasley twins leaving. Outwardly Hermione had been appalled by Fred and George turning their back on their education, but secretly a small part of her had admired their courage. She knew she could never have done anything like that, not even in protest against Umbridge. She always told herself she wanted to make a difference, wanted to make her mark on the world and stand out, but she also wondered if she would ever be brave enough to do so.

The school had been thrown into anarchy in the wake of their leaving, highlighted by McGonagall being attacked so shamefully when Hagrid had fled the school. That had scared Hermione. Snape had warned her, obliquely, that Umbridge unopposed was capable of anything, but... she found it hard to grasp the notion that the _government, _the rulers of wizarding society, could act like that without repercussion. Britain wasn't supposed to work like that. They weren't supposed to live in a dictatorship. Voldemort had been bad enough without her realising that she couldn't trust the Ministry either; she'd always known they were pretty useless, but not that they were potentially hostile. And the school officials had done nothing. She'd heard from Snape that the teachers couldn't stop what was happening, and obviously nor could the Order. There were too many enemies.

And, speaking of enemies... she closed her eyes and shuddered. Voldemort walked in her nightmares now, no longer a faceless shadow but a creature of horror in his own right. The battle at the Ministry had truly terrified her. It had been completely outside her experience and so much worse than she could ever have dreamed of, and only drove home to her just how unprepared she and her friends were. The only reason they were still alive was that the Death Eaters had wanted the prophecy more than they wanted to kill children. She didn't know how the others felt about it – they hadn't discussed it – but she personally felt hopelessly out of her depth and so scared she couldn't sleep. Despite all their best efforts, they simply didn't know enough, and there were so few people they could really trust.

Umbridge was gone now, anyway, and at least the Ministry now believed that Voldemort was back and the war was under way, but she wasn't sure it would help. Dumbledore would be back, and she remembered seeing the Headmaster facing Voldemort, the first time she'd seen a real fight between powerful adult wizards. Hogwarts would be safe again with him in charge once more, but they couldn't hide here for ever. The summer was going to be frightening, and God alone knew what they'd end up with as a Defence teacher next year but she no longer had faith that the school would help them. The prophecy was obviously about Harry and was obviously important, but he wasn't ready to talk about it.

Harry was scaring her too at the moment, truthfully. All this year he had been so angry, so withdrawn from everyone – even her and Ron – and she had truly had no idea he was ignoring everything she'd tried to pass on about Occlumency. Now she seldom saw him, and when she did he was silent and distant, obviously blaming himself for what had happened – not entirely without justification, but he couldn't have known what would happen – and just as obviously torn apart inside about Sirius' death. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that, either – it was the first time she had seen someone die, and regardless of her confused cynicism about her friend's godfather she had genuinely liked him, and she had grieved a bit, but it was all very mixed up and she suspected she was in shock still.

All in all, she felt very fragile at the moment, scared and uncertain and not at all sure she trusted anyone to fix it. If Dumbledore was so strong, why had he allowed the Ministry to push him around? Why hadn't he done more to oppose the Death Eaters – he'd taken out half a dozen of them without even trying and had chased off Voldemort himself, and many of the other Order members were nearly as good. Why hadn't this been sorted, why had they spent a year in stalemate? Could the school protect them or not? And if not, how were they to learn how to protect themselves? They had been trying, but a real fight was very different from a practice duel in the Room of Requirement, and they needed a teacher who knew more.

More than anything, Hermione wanted to talk to someone about it, but she wasn't sure who. The Headmaster would understand, but frankly she was a bit too intimidated by what she had seen to feel comfortable talking to him; she'd never been close to him as Harry had been and had barely spoken to him in almost six years. Professor McGonagall was still in St Mungo's, although Dilys said she was almost fully recovered and chafing to return to the school. Madam Pomfrey wasn't involved with the war except for occasionally patching people up and wouldn't know any of the answers. The portraits were forbidden to talk about anything they had heard from Dumbledore, Ron was as confused as she was, Harry wasn't talking to anyone. Crookshanks was a wonderful listener and she'd caught herself talking to him several times, but he wasn't much for giving advice, really. She'd be seeing her parents soon but she didn't intend telling them anything that had happened; she didn't want to worry them and they couldn't understand.

Under different circumstances, she would have tried to talk to Snape about it. Of everyone involved, he seemed to be the only one she thought might understand what she was thinking and might be able to tell her what she needed to hear – which probably wouldn't be what she _wanted _to hear, but she appreciated his honesty. He wouldn't treat her like a child. But she'd barely seen him; he'd shown up once or twice to deliver some of the endless potions she had to drink every day, but he hadn't stayed more than a few moments, talking briefly to Poppy. Once he'd glanced at her and nodded as he'd left, but that was the extent of their contact; he evidently had enough problems of his own right now, and she could hardly go looking for him when she was confined to a sick bed.

It seemed she would have to wait and see what happened, which she absolutely hated, and concentrate on recovering both physically and emotionally, because she didn't want to feel like this for any longer than necessary.

* * *

><p>After that little bit of excitement, the actual end of the year had been rather anticlimactic as far as Severus was concerned. Dumbledore was back, the toad was gone, Minerva was back and apparently recovered just in time to once again snatch the House Cup away from him – as if he still cared – and the Ministry had finally woken up, far too late. Fudge would probably be sacked within a month, but he really didn't care any more, just wanting to stumble back to his dark and depressing house and sleep until September.<p>

That was a fool's dream; the summer promised to be complicated. The Dark Lord was beyond furious, and with both Bellatrix and Lucius in disgrace Severus was somewhat startled to find himself at his master's right hand simply because he was moderately competent and not insane. That was very useful, yes, but he really didn't have time for it – he had his own plans for this summer and really needed to be unobserved for a little while, especially since he was coldly sure that he was making a big mistake. He shouldn't be taking such a risk. It was jeopardising everything, and it was making an already messy situation much worse. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't sit back and do nothing; he'd done that before, and it had cost him dearly, and he wasn't capable of doing it again.

Shaking his head, Severus stared down at the scrap of parchment he'd scribbled the address on, running over his hastily concocted plan once more, and bit his lip – a habit he'd picked up over the last year, much to his extreme irritation and slight embarrassment. This was a mistake, he knew it, but he also knew he couldn't sit back and do nothing, not and live with himself afterwards.

* * *

><p>Hermione was extremely confused to be woken in the middle of the night by something rattling against her bedroom window. It didn't sound like an owl, and anyway even Ron wouldn't be daft enough to write at – she squinted at the glowing numbers of her alarm clock – gone half past three in the morning. Slipping out of bed, she padded barefoot across the carpet to the window, cautiously parting her curtains a crack and peering out across the front garden into the quiet street.<p>

A dark, hooded figure stood by the gate, under the street light, and seemed to be looking straight at her; she stepped back from the window and continued to watch. The figure bent, then straightened and threw something at the window. Ducking back reflexively, she recognised the rattle of gravel or bits of tarmac or something of the sort and stifled a nervous laugh at her reaction as she considered what to do; it was hard to imagine a less likely Death Eater attack, but there was surely something suspicious about this.

Looking around her bedroom, inspiration struck. Hastily pulling on her dressing gown and making sure she had her wand, she picked up Crookshanks from the end of the bed where he had been watching her intently and carried him downstairs, thankful that her parents were sound sleepers.

"Crooks, go see who's outside the house?" she asked the cat softly, stroking his ears as she put him down. "But be careful, okay?" He purred reassuringly at her and trotted into the kitchen, and she heard his cat flap click and swing.

Standing at the living room window, she watched nervously as her familiar came around the side of the house and wandered nonchalantly around the garden, before sauntering over to the gate and hopping onto the garden wall. The hooded figure moved closer and reached out to stroke him, and Hermione relaxed, hurrying into the kitchen and letting herself out of the back door before going to see who her mysterious visitor was.

As she approached the gate, the figure turned towards her and lowered its hood, and she stopped dead in the middle of the lawn and stared in utter shock at the familiar gaunt features and dark eyes of Professor Snape – a Snape, moreover, who was wearing loose jeans and a hooded sweater and the manky old trainers that he went jogging in. "Miss Granger," he greeted her softly. It had only been a week or two since she had last seen him, but he had visibly aged years in that time, his eyes sunken and hooded over and his face thinner than ever.

"Sir," she replied weakly, trying not to gape at him – what on earth was he doing here? A moment later she started to panic as she thought of several possible reasons why a member of the Order of the Phoenix would be showing up at her house in the middle of the night. "Is something wrong? An – an attack, or –"

He shook his head. "Everyone is fine, as far as I know. This is something different," he replied cryptically, before hesitating. "May I come in? This is the sort of neighbourhood where people notice suspicious figures skulking around."

Hermione hesitated in turn, watching him narrowly as a few other possible reasons for his appearance presented themselves. She glanced at Crookshanks, who was now washing himself with supreme unconcern, then looked back at Snape, gripping her wand more tightly.

He gave her an irritated look. "Your caution is commendable, but I do not have time for it tonight, Miss Granger," he hissed at her, sounding annoyed. "I assure you, I am not here to kidnap you for some nefarious purpose. Now may I come in before one of your neighbours calls the police?"

"Sorry, sir," she replied sheepishly, as he followed her around the house and into the kitchen. "I just... wasn't expecting you," she added lamely. He looked incredibly weird in Muggle clothing, although at least he seemed to know what was normal and what was utterly outlandish, and it was all too big for him by the look of things.

"As I said, your caution does you credit." Snape gave her a sardonic look. "Do you require proof that I am in fact the real Professor Snape?" he asked sarcastically. "Offhand I cannot think of any personal question you would actually know the answer to, but I am sure I can come up with some reminder of your past misdeeds that is not widely known."

"I trust my cat's judgement," she muttered, trying to salvage some sort of dignity by changing the subject. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

The polite offer had mostly been reflex, and she was surprised when he nodded. "Strong black coffee would be welcome."

"Long night, sir?" she dared to ask, switching on the kettle.

"Long week," he corrected her wearily, sitting down at the table. "Do not tell anyone of my visit, Miss Granger," he continued crisply in a more businesslike tone, "not even your little friends. A great many people on both sides would be extremely displeased to learn that I was here."

Now seriously bewildered, she nodded. "Yes, sir."

He said nothing else until she put his coffee in front of him and sat down opposite him, still a little shaken by the sudden appearance of her Potions master in her parents' kitchen in the middle of the night. Sipping at the coffee, he nodded in acknowledgement, before sitting back in his chair as his gaze sharpened. Giving her a very direct and penetrating stare, he asked bluntly, "How quickly could your parents leave the country?"

Hermione stared at him and reflexively opened her mouth to ask why; he scowled darkly at her, his brows furrowing, and she shut it again hastily as she thought fast. "I don't know," she answered finally, trying not to let her voice shake. If he was asking, then there was a good reason for her parents to leave the country quickly, which meant... _Oh, God._

Snape nodded as though he had expected this answer. "They will have money and a Portkey provided; and electrical communication such as emails, fax machines or the telephone is safe, for them to sort out work matters and so on."

She thought about it some more, part of her noting absently that he knew how to pronounce telephone and knew what emails and fax machines were. "I'm still not sure, sir. A week, maybe?"

He shook his head, and her stomach tightened as he said quietly, "Make it sooner."

Swallowing, she made herself ask, "Are – are they targeting me specifically, sir, or all Muggleborns?"

"They aren't doing anything, yet," he replied softly, "but it will be the latter, although they will naturally be paying more attention to you." Taking another drink of coffee, he leaned forward and fixed her with an intent stare. "I will need to speak to your parents tonight; they must start making the necessary arrangements immediately. In... let us say three nights... I will return with money and I will teach you how to make a Portkey. I will not do it myself – not only do I not wish to know where they are going, it is imperative that I do not know. Do you understand?"

She nodded slowly. What he didn't know, he couldn't be tempted to betray. "Yes, sir," she replied faintly. "Why is it you who is doing this, sir?"

He ignored the question, which she had expected. "How much do your parents know of what is happening?"

"Um... not much," she admitted. "They know about You-Know-Who, and they know there is a war going on, and a bit about Harry, and they sort of know that I'm on the fringe of things, learning Healing and stuff. They know there was a fight at the Ministry but they don't know I was there." He raised an eyebrow, his eyes dropping from her face to where he knew the half-healed scar lay, and she reflexively held the neck of her dressing gown closed even though she knew her pyjama top covered it.

"Will they agree to this, to simply abandon everything and leave the country?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Leaving work is going to be hard. But they'll still be able to stay in touch with friends through email and the phone, won't they, sir?" He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly, and she continued before he spoke. "Not with me. I know that, sir." He nodded again and sat back, and she thought about it. "I think so, sir, with you here to explain how urgent it is, that this isn't an overreaction. But they'll want me to go with them."

"I will deal with that."

"They won't like not being able to contact me, not knowing if I'm all right, not once they know that I'm involved more than they realised. They'll worry about me."

Snape nodded. "Quite understandable, and I have thought of that."

"How long will this be for?" she asked hesitantly, already knowing the answer even before he looked at her.

"Until we win the war, Miss Granger. They will continue to be a target until then. It could be years, perhaps even decades – although that is not likely."

Hesitating, Hermione gathered her courage and finally voiced the question she had never dared ask any of the Order members. "Do you think we _will _win, sir?" she asked him in a small voice.

"Do you wish me to lie to you and tell you that everything will be all right?" he asked in return, his voice surprisingly soft.

She shook her head slowly. "I want your honest opinion, please, even if it's not the answer I would like to hear."

He sighed, meeting her eyes solemnly. "I really don't know one way or the other any more, Miss Granger. We... may do. There is still a little room for hope."

After a moment she nodded. "Thank you, sir." She pushed back her chair. "I'll go speak to Mum and Dad while you finish your coffee. We'll be down in a while."

* * *

><p>Severus sat back and drank his coffee slowly as he listened to the distant murmur of voices overhead. He didn't even taste the drink; he virtually lived on strong black coffee now, despite what it did to his ulcers, and the caffeine barely touched him these days. Glancing idly around the kitchen, which screamed happy middle-class family home to his cynical gaze, he found himself the focus of a pair of calm, penetrating yellow eyes, and raised an eyebrow sardonically at the cat. "Yes? Was there something you wanted?"<p>

Crookshanks – he'd always thought it was a bloody stupid name for a cat, but nobody had asked him – continued to stare at him for a long moment before blinking slowly and starting to purr, standing and walking along the table to head-butt him imperiously in the shoulder. Checking the doorway to make sure he wasn't being watched, Severus relented and started to stroke him, sighing. "Well, at least you don't seem to think I'm making a terrible mistake," he muttered, rubbing behind the cat's ears. "I shouldn't be here, you know."

Never mind what Voldemort would think; the snake-faced, twisted bastard could go and do something very painful and anatomically improbable to himself for all Severus cared these days. But Dumbledore was going to be absolutely furious if he found out, and to be honest Severus couldn't say that the Headmaster would be wrong. This was a horrific risk; he was jeopardising the whole plan for the sake of one girl, and he didn't want to think about the reason why because it made his stomach twist and his head ache. Sighing, he finished the last of his coffee and wished vainly that he could get some sleep. He hadn't slept in two days, and he wasn't likely to get much rest over the next week. At least.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and he snorted mockingly to himself as he felt himself unconsciously tense up. Granger's parents were hardly likely to be a threat to him – although when he saw the expression on the face of the woman who entered the kitchen, Severus was almost inclined to change his mind on that score. She looked... well, he could see where the girl had got her temper from. Remembering his manners, he stood up and inclined his head politely, aware that he was cutting a less than stellar professional image at the moment. He didn't have much Muggle clothing; his usual attire was too formal for skulking around a Muggle neighbourhood even if he left out the robe and his coat.

"Good morning, Doctor Granger," he said quietly, privately congratulating himself on remembering that dentists were classed as doctors in the Muggle world – he didn't have much experience with either. "My apologies for wakening you at such an early hour. I assure you, it is important." He looked past her to the tall man who had followed her in, repeating his polite nod and noting idly that Granger resembled both her parents fairly evenly rather than favouring one or the other – much as he himself did, actually, although she had been luckier than he had in that regard. _Focus, Severus, for fuck's sake, _he chided himself.

"Has your daughter told you –?" he began, before she cut him off.

"Hermione has told us a lot of nonsense, _Professor. _She's told us a few things about you, for a start."

Suppressing a wince, Severus leaned slightly sideways and looked past the angry pyjama-clad dentists to their daughter, who gave him a guilty look and stared at the floor. He sighed. "No doubt she has. I am sure everything she said was the absolute truth, too. However, that changes nothing. I would not be here at four in the morning unless it was important. You are both in danger."

"So she said," Hermione's father replied evenly. He didn't look quite as angry as his wife, but he was clearly no happier than she was, and just as sceptical. "However, she wasn't able to tell us _why._"

Severus gave the girl another stare and she fidgeted without looking up, her hair – even more tangled than it usually was – falling forward to hide her face. "I see," he said flatly. He could understand her reluctance, but he didn't have time for her to be squeamish now. "In the interests of expediency – Miss Granger, kindly return to your room and allow me to address your parents alone, if you please." That earned him a wide-eyed pleading look that almost hurt, but he didn't have time for that, either. "_Now_, Miss Granger," he snapped in the voice he had honed over fifteen years of dealing with impossible teenagers, and she all but fled. With anyone else, he would have warned her not to even think of eavesdropping, but he knew she wouldn't.

Returning his gaze to her parents, he gestured to the table. "Please, sit down. I have much to tell you, and very little time to do it." As they settled into chairs and assumed some pretence of civility, Severus said a silent prayer to any deity with so little to do that they might bother themselves with his grubby, tattered soul; _please don't let me be Summoned until this is done. _He cleared his throat and leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table, steepling his fingers and regarding the couple who sat opposite him.

"My name is Severus Snape," he said quietly. "I am your daughter's teacher. I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I am also a Death Eater. And there are a number of very powerful and extremely dangerous witches and wizards who want you dead because of your daughter."

"Because of Hermione? But... why? She – she's just a girl."

Severus almost smiled, although the expression would have held no humour. "No," he corrected softly. "She is far more than that. She is one of the most gifted witches of her generation. She is powerful, she is clever, and she is Muggleborn. She is a threat to everything that the Death Eaters believe and everything they stand for, because she is living proof that _they are wrong_. She is also Harry Potter's best friend. They will come for you, soon, because they want to destroy her. Please believe me – I am not insane, or lying. Your lives are in danger and you _must _flee if you want to live."

The anger had gone; at least they seemed to believe him. They looked frightened, which was reassuring; they had sense enough to be scared. "How deeply is she involved?" Mr Granger asked hesitantly.

"Far more deeply than she should be," Severus replied with feeling. "Far more deeply than you wish to know."

They exchanged one of those long looks that couples sometimes shared; he sometimes thought that such moments were almost a form of Legilimency, a heightened awareness and instinctual connection that was almost telepathic. He envied that level of intimacy. Leaning back in his chair, he watched them silently, and almost disgraced himself when Crookshanks oozed off the table into his lap; barely choking back a sudden yell of shock, and barely refraining from reflexively incinerating the stupid animal, he gave the cat a glare that was totally ignored as the impossible beast started purring at him.

"Hermione said that _we _needed to leave the country, but she made no mention of herself," Mrs Granger said at last; her voice was a little slow and distant, indicating that she was deep in thought. "She seems to think that she will be staying here and fighting."

Severus did smile then. _She is a Gryffindor to her bones; of course she does. _"I would expect no less of her," he replied dryly. "Your daughter has never lacked courage." Common sense, on occasion, certainly; but not courage.

"You agree with her." It wasn't a question, but even if it had been, she gave him no chance to answer. "You seriously believe that you are going to drag my daughter into your stupid war? She is _sixteen! _She's a child by even your standards!"

"She is almost of age in our world, and she is already involved," he replied as gently as possible. "There is nothing I can do that will change that. And she cannot flee with you. They want her too badly. If they cannot find you, they will eventually give up and pursue other prey; if she is with you, they will never stop hunting you. Her presence would endanger you too much, and you cannot protect her."

He took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to keep his voice gentle – it wasn't something he was particularly practiced at. "Your daughter does not live in your world any longer, Doctor Granger. She and I walk different roads, because of our magic. I understand how you feel, but you cannot be a part of this aspect of her life. The best thing you can do for her is to ensure that she knows you are both safe."

"But who will keep _her _safe?" her father asked quietly.

"I will." Severus heard himself say the words with a kind of detached surprise. _You're an idiot, Snape. You can't save everyone. Hell, you can't even save yourself. You should have learned by now not to make promises you can't keep. _He met the man's hazel eyes, then his wife's brown ones – the ones her daughter had inherited. "I swear it."

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't sure what Snape had said to her parents. All she knew was that they had finally called her back downstairs after more than an hour – an hour she had spent pacing and biting her lip and listening tensely for the shouting to start – to a rather tense atmosphere; her mother had clearly been crying, and her father had his arm around her as they spoke in whispers at the table, while Snape was standing by the back door and staring out into the garden. He had seemed rather uncomfortable, and she desperately wanted to know what had been said, but her parents refused to tell her.<p>

Three days later, she heard the soft _crack _of nearby Apparition and hurried to the door to let Snape in. He looked even more tired than he had done before, although he was better dressed and wearing his familiar frock coat. He nodded to her and glanced briefly around the kitchen. "Are you ready?"

"We are."

He undid the first few buttons of his coat and reached inside, pulling out a shabby plain white envelope, which he handed to Hermione's father. "There is almost three hundred pounds there. It is all I could get on such short notice. You may freely access your own money once you are settled, of course; very few wizards have any idea of how Muggle finance works and have never heard of debit or credit cards, or traveller's cheques, or cash machines. You know where you are going?"

"Yes. Hermione says we can still communicate with work and friends?"

"Yes. We don't know about email, either," he said dryly. "Or phone tapping. But you cannot risk writing to her."

"This is... harsh, Professor. You have told us that she is a target in a war she shouldn't be involved in, and you want us to sit and twiddle our thumbs in another country – possibly for years – with no way of knowing what's happening to our only child?"

To Hermione's surprise, Snape's black eyes softened slightly in what passed for a smile, with him. "I have thought of that. Miss Granger, come here, please." He pulled his coat aside to dig into his trouser pocket and produced a small cloudy-looking grey crystal and a knife – a rather old and vicious-looking Muggle switchblade.

"What is that, sir?" she asked interestedly, looking at the crystal. It seemed to be filled with smoke; she could faintly see it moving, swirling around inside.

"A bloodstone," he replied.

"But bloodstone is green, with red flecks in it," she objected, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Not bloodstone, Miss Granger. _A _bloodstone. It is a thing of magic, not a gem." He handed her the knife. "The blade has been sterilised. Make a small cut in the centre of your left palm – a _small _cut, please; no need to be dramatic – and place the bloodstone onto the wound."

She took the knife and placed the tip against her hand, rather doubtfully. "What will this do, sir?" She trusted him, but she didn't really want to hurt herself.

He looked a little impatient, but explained anyway, rather than simply snapping at her to do as she was told as she had half-expected him to do; possibly because her parents were watching, or because he was simply too tired to lose his temper. "I do not have time for a more detailed explanation of the technicalities. Let us say that the crystal will absorb a little of your essence – your blood, your magic. It will change colour. I cannot say what colour it will turn. That colour will vary a little with your emotions, rather like a mood stone, and will also reflect physical pain to some extent. A bloodstone cannot be damaged once it has been created; this crystal will last your entire lifetime, and will turn black and crack into pieces on your death."

"So we'll know if something bad happens to her," her father said softly, swallowing. "I see."

"You will also know if something good happens," Snape offered; Hermione wasn't sure she had ever heard him trying to be reassuring before. "I felt that you needed some degree of certainty. This was the best I could manage without more time."

"Thank you, sir," she told him quietly to forestall any further discussion. Taking a breath, she tightened her grip on the knife, before hesitating and giving him a sheepish look. "Um... can you do it for me, please?"

Snape blinked at her, before snorting and looking amused as he fought not to smirk. "You cannot possibly be squeamish, Miss Granger." She supposed he had good reason to be sceptical, given that she had seen him half naked and soaked in blood a dozen times by now.

"I'm not," she protested, embarrassed. "I just... I've never deliberately tried to hurt myself."

Abruptly all traces of amusement vanished from his expression, and Hermione regretted saying it instantly. She hadn't meant it nastily, and she was reasonably sure that he wasn't aware that she knew of his history with self harm, but... Her self-castigation stopped when he took the knife from her grip and gently grasped her hand. "Hold still, then," he murmured softly, pressing down; there was a moment's sharp pain, and she watched a small spot of crimson welling up in her palm.

Picking up the crystal in her other hand, she looked at it curiously; it was vibrating slightly in her fingers, almost expectantly. Hermione placed it onto the tiny cut, and she and her parents watched the small dot of blood flatten and smear before the smoke swirling inside the crystal turned red as though the stone had drawn her blood into it.

"Does it hurt?" her mother asked.

"No," she reported, watching in fascination as the red smoke filled the gem. "It tingles a little, that's all."

The red smoke swirled faster, slowly beginning to change colour; it grew lighter, then warmer, gradually becoming something pale and almost golden that was much like candlelight. "Does the colour mean anything, sir?" she asked, looking up.

Snape's black eyes were watching the gem. "Nobody knows what the colour means. It is different for each witch or wizard who creates one and presumably represents them in some way, but nobody is sure what causes it."

"You said it will change colour with emotions..."

"Yes, but within a certain frequency; in your case, oranges, browns, yellows and ambers – it will stay more or less this colour."

"I see." Hermione crossed the kitchen to the sink and rinsed her hand; the tiny cut had already stopped bleeding. Turning, she bit her lip and held out the crystal towards her mother. "I – I suppose this is yours, then."

Her parents carefully accepted the bloodstone, with lots of rapid blinking and unsteady breathing all around as they jointly struggled to control their emotions; Snape gazed at the wall with an expression of intense interest and appeared to be trying to ignore them as much as possible in the small space.

Hermione tried to force a smile. "It's okay, Professor. We agreed not to be horribly sentimental until we get there and say goodbye. I didn't think you'd be impressed if we all started crying."

He gave her a rather ironic look and replied as sarcastically as possible, "Thank you for considering me, Miss Granger. I assure you, I have seen worse." He looked at the pile of luggage. "This is everything?"

"Almost. Just Crookshanks."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but nodded, apparently understanding why she wanted her familiar to go with them. She adored her cat; he was as much a member of her family as her parents were, and she wanted him to be safe. She couldn't guarantee what might happen to her but if she did end up leaving Hogwarts in a hurry, she might not be able to take him with her; besides, he would be company for her parents, although she would miss him.

"Crooks," she called now, and after a few moments he poked his head around the door, slinking reluctantly into the room. Hermione had sat and explained to him carefully why she wanted him to go, and he was easily intelligent enough to understand her, but he didn't like it. Picking the cat up, she hugged him, burying her face in his fur. "I'll miss you, furball. Look after yourself, and them, okay?" she whispered, blinking back tears at his reassuring purr, before gently putting him in his carrier.

Snape dipped into his other trouser pocket and pulled out a small object, which he tossed to her. It turned out to be a key ring advertising Guinness, which was surreal to say the least; Hermione stared at the grinning toucan with a pint balanced on its beak rather blankly for a moment before she understood. "The Portkey."

"Obviously," he drawled with a faintly mocking touch of acid in his voice, but the word held no real bite, and she bit her lip to stop herself smiling as she looked at him expectantly. "Creating a Portkey is not difficult, but it requires a fair amount of power, so we will be working together. I will supply the energy, and you will actually create the link."

"Sir, I have a question."

"Imagine my surprise," he replied sarcastically. "Yes?"

"Well, I know creating unapproved Portkeys is illegal anyway, but – I'm not seventeen until September. I'm still under the restriction. Won't the Ministry know if I do magic?"

"You may have noticed, Miss Granger, that the Ministry as a whole are collectively incapable of finding their own backsides using both hands and a map," he answered dryly, and she choked back a fit of the giggles as he continued, "That law, along with most things they do, is positively riddled with loopholes large enough to drive a flying Ford Anglia through, for example. In this instance, however, you are right that they will detect magic at this address, which is why we will be creating the Portkey out in the street – sadly it really is just that easy to completely flummox our government. If you have everything, let us go."

A few minutes later the odd little group gathered on the pavement outside the front gate and Snape casually drew his wand and hexed the lamp post beside them, so that they stood in a little pool of darkness, before shrinking their luggage – except for Crookshanks, who doubtless wouldn't have appreciated such treatment – just as casually and moving to stand behind Hermione. "Very well, Miss Granger. Hold the key ring in one hand and touch the tip of your wand to it. That's right. Now slide your hand further down so that I may hold the end of your wand; this way it will draw my magic, rather than yours, and your hand will guide it." His fingers cradled her left hand where she held the key ring, as his right hand held the end of her wand; she could feel the warmth of his body, although he wasn't quite touching her.

His quiet voice in her ear was the only sound in the deserted street. "Concentrate on where you wish to go. If you have been there before, picture it in your mind, but if not, you need only focus on the address. _Concentrate. _Do you know the spell?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then cast when you are ready. I understand that you will want time to say your farewells, and I will wait, but we still have much to do tonight. To return, simply think of here and cast again; the Portkey will reverse and bring you back here." He raised his voice slightly and spoke to her parents. "When your daughter casts the spell, the key ring will glow blue. I will get out of the way; you must both reach out and touch it at the same time, while it is still glowing. I wish you both luck."

"Thank you, Professor Snape. I hope we will see you again."

Snape made a noncommittal sound in response and shifted his stance slightly. "When you are ready, Miss Granger."

Hermione concentrated as hard as she could. "_Portus._"

The sensations caused by his magic flowing down her wand and under her hand made her shiver and almost gasp at the unexpected feeling; it was nothing like her own. His power felt very different, but she didn't have much time to think about it; the key ring flashed with blue light, and Snape let go of her and stepped away as her parents came forward and reached out, and she felt the jerk behind her navel as the Portkey activated.

* * *

><p>It took quite a long while before Hermione and her parents managed to stop crying – she'd never seen her father cry before. Finally, sniffing inelegantly, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and took a few deep breaths, her head aching. "God. This is stupid. I'll be okay, really I will," she assured them shakily, stroking a miserable-looking Crookshanks.<p>

"You can't know that," her mother protested softly, likewise trying to dry her eyes.

"I will," she insisted with a bravado she didn't feel. "I'll be at Hogwarts. It's sometimes a bit interesting there, admittedly, but it's safe from V-Voldemort." _At least for a little while. _She still wasn't used to saying the name. "Professor Dumbledore and the other teachers who are in the Order will look after us. It's you who were in danger."

"So Professor Snape said, quite insistently," her father noted. "He wasn't what I would have expected, love. You didn't give him a particularly flattering description when you told us about him before."

Hermione grinned sheepishly despite herself. "No, I didn't, did I? It's hard to explain – he's still like that, he's still nasty and still picks on Harry and everything else, but there's more to the story that I didn't know about. And he's taken a big risk to warn us."

"Yes... why is that? It seems odd that he'd risk so much for people he's never met."

She shrugged. "I think it's because he doesn't usually get a chance to warn people. He just has to watch them being taken. What he does in the war is pretty horrible. Anyway, he's a pretty confusing man – I honestly have no idea why he does anything."

"But you trust him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Hermione thought about it, biting her lip. "Because he's never actually given me a reason not to. And because he's saved me and my friends several times, even if we usually didn't admit it." She smiled. "It's complicated."

Her mother said quietly after a short pause, "Hermione... you've never told us everything, have you."

Trying not to squirm, she nodded reluctantly. "No."

"How much danger are you in?"

She bit her lip again, trying to work out what to say. She didn't want to lie, but she certainly wasn't going to tell them the truth. _I wish I wasn't so crap at being a Slytherin. _"Some," she admitted guardedly. "More than you're going to be happy with. But not as much as you think. And I have people looking out for me."

Her parents exchanged another one of their long, almost telepathic looks before her father nodded slowly. "All right, love. It seems we've got no choice but to believe you." He came forward and hugged her, hard. "When this is all over, you're going to tell us everything, missy. Understand?"

Sniffing, she hugged him back. "Okay, Dad."

Her mother came to join the hug. "_Look after yourself, _all right?"

"I promise." She sniffed again, refusing to cry any more. "I love you."

"And we love you. Don't forget that."

"I won't."

* * *

><p>The clock was just chiming five thirty in the morning when Hermione reappeared in the kitchen. Snape was sitting at the table and by the look of him had been dozing; he needed a shave and his eyes were sunken and bloodshot with fatigue, and even though it was the height of summer he was still shivering. "Any problems?" he asked quietly.<p>

"No, sir," she replied hoarsely; her throat was sore from crying.

He gave her a long look. "You did the right thing, Miss Granger," he told her in a surprisingly gentle tone. "They will be safe now. I feel I should point out that in fact they will be considerably safer than you will be."

Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes briskly on her sleeve. "You never tried to persuade me that I should go with them, sir."

"I didn't see any point in wasting my breath," he told her tartly. "You didn't listen to your parents; you certainly weren't going to listen to me. Come. We have much to do this morning."

"You said. What are we doing?" she asked, trying not to yawn. She had no idea what was going to happen to her now, but whatever it was, she hoped it would involve a few hours of sleep first.

Unfortunately, it looked like she was going to be disappointed. Snape reached into his coat again and unearthed an odd flat package that turned out to be a lot of empty cardboard boxes that had been shrunk down, a key on a length of elastic and a small envelope. He handed the latter two items to her. "This is the key to a self-storage warehouse and the paperwork confirming that you have rented it for two years. We need to pack up everything in this house and ensure that it is secure."

"Why, sir?"

"Because when they arrive and find an empty house, they will destroy everything in it out of sheer spite," he replied quietly, "and I doubt that your parents are insured against stupid wizards throwing a violent temper tantrum. If the house is completely empty, they will assume that they were mistaken and leave with minimal damage. I will start down here if you begin with the bedrooms upstairs."

"Underage," she reminded him through another yawn.

"The owners of this house are no longer in residence. Magically, it no longer registers as your home. Come, Miss Granger – we have miles to go before we sleep."

"You read Robert Frost," she mumbled, picking up a stack of miniaturised boxes and turning for the stairs. He didn't reply.

* * *

><p><em>I don't buy that it took Hermione another year to work out that her parents might be in danger. Sorry, JK, that's nonsense. Busy summer continues next time.<em>


	14. Chapter 14

_Poor, poor Severus. This summer is not going to do him much good. But despite that, I think you might like this chapter.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"You only really discover the strength of your spine when your back is against the wall."<strong>  
>– James Geary.<p>

* * *

><p>The morning sun was warm as Hermione carefully clicked shut the padlock on the door of the storage unit. Carefully she tucked the key into her pocket before looking at Snape. He looked as tired as she felt as he rubbed his unshaven jaw wearily and returned her gaze without expression.<p>

"Where to now, sir?"

He didn't answer for a moment; watching his jaw move, she realised that he was trying not to yawn. Blinking slowly, he exhaled, lifting a hand to rub his eyes wearily. "To your house to pick up your things; then to London, and Grimmauld Place. I will Apparate with you to a spot a few streets away, and I will be watching you until you are let in – I do not know who is in residence at the moment."

"You're not coming in with me?"

His black eyes sharpened. "Miss Granger, I have not seen you since term ended. You are intelligent enough to have realised that your parents will no doubt be at risk at some stage, and with your insatiable need to know everything you were easily able to work out a way of getting them to safety. Your actions certainly could have nothing to do with me."

"I see, sir," she replied carefully, not _seeing _at all. "Thank you."

Deciding again that she really hated Side-Along Apparition, Hermione gathered all her things together, carefully shrunk down and stored in her school trunk, and made a brief search of the hauntingly empty house to make sure nothing had been overlooked before she spoke to him again. "Why _did _you do this, sir? Surely it puts you even more at risk."

Snape shook his head. "I am hiding so much now that it makes no real difference. If he gets far enough into my head to find out that I warned you, he will have already found more than enough to condemn me, and more than enough to drag the Order down with me."

Hermione swallowed and tried to keep her tone light. "I guess we're lucky that he can't get that far in, then, aren't we?" He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching briefly in what might have been a suppressed smile, before she added, "You said that people on both sides would be angry if they found out what you had done..."

He shook his head again. "That is not your concern, Miss Granger. Everything I do angers people on both sides, these days. It is part of being a double agent, or a triple agent, or whatever it is I am – frankly, I lose track."

She smiled a little as she locked the door and carefully pocketed the keys; his gallows humour was funny, sometimes, bleak though it was. "Thank you, Professor."

"Don't mention it." He gave her an ironic look. "That wasn't modesty, it was an instruction. _Don't _mention it."

"Yes, sir. Thank you anyway," she added daringly.

"Whatever for?" he asked blandly. "As I said, I have not seen you since term ended. I am on holiday, after all. Come now." He offered his arm, and a few minutes later she was knocking on the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, able to feel his eyes on her even though she couldn't see him. He hadn't answered her when she had asked why he'd done this, she realised as the door opened.

* * *

><p>Severus wasn't sure, even now, whether he'd done the right thing or not by warning the Grangers. On the surface, it seemed obvious that he should do whatever he could to save as many lives as possible, and he did see to it that warnings were passed on as often as he dared, but he'd never intervened personally before and never with a target of such importance. Besides, he could admit if only to himself that he hadn't been thinking about the war at all; he'd done it for personal reasons, which was very strictly forbidden by his own code as much as by any command of Dumbledore's. He couldn't afford personal considerations in any aspect of his life. It was a distraction that might well prove fatal in the long run, and this intervention now would prevent him doing something similar in the future and could have unknown repercussions he hadn't thought of.<p>

Still, he couldn't help but feel a certain sense of satisfaction when Avery and Yaxley returned from their raid empty-handed and furious, especially since when questioned he had been able to reply with a shrug that the girl wasn't stupid and had no doubt worked out that she was vulnerable and had then told his master with complete honesty that there had been no official Order protection for her. If there had been, he wouldn't have needed to act as he had.

He was enjoying a hitherto unknown ascendancy among the Death Eaters at the moment, thanks to Bellatrix and Lucius still being in disgrace after the fiasco at the Ministry. Being Voldemort's right-hand man was unpleasant and dangerous, but it could also be fun at times simply because of the poorly-disguised envy and hatred radiating from his brethren. Part of Severus took enormous satisfaction in flaunting his new power over them; here he was, a poor half-blood with nothing to distinguish him, and he ranked higher than any of the aristocracy. The irony was simply beautiful.

Pride would no doubt come before a fall, but he was damned well going to enjoy it while it lasted. Besides, he knew full well that his master didn't trust him entirely; in his _wisdom, _the Dark Lord had chosen to set Wormtail on him, and to his displeasure Severus now had a Marauder as a houseguest. Ordering Pettigrew around and making him clean the house had been fun for a couple of days, but he was losing interest now and there was something a little creepy about trying to sleep in the same house as the rat. Not to mention that Severus sincerely wanted him dead.

That was a problem for another time, though; right now his focus was mainly on trying to stop his leg from going to sleep as he knelt in his place in the circle and tried to work out what was going on. His master had said cryptically that this meeting would be special, but so far it had been just the same as all the others.

Towards the end of the meeting, around the point where Severus always wanted to say _Any other business? _Voldemort stood up and came forward to address them all again. He was smiling, which was always a very bad sign. "My brethren, I have an announcement to make tonight."

_Tell me you're retiring, _Severus thought grimly, glad that his mask spared him the need to look attentive and interested.

"We must always look to the future, and tonight that future begins. We have a new recruit."

That made Severus pay attention; there had been no new initiations since their master's return. He narrowed his eyes and studied their leader, and for a moment was jealous of the new recruit, whoever they were – their initiation wouldn't be as nightmarish as his had been, or that of any of the others. Voldemort wasn't human enough any more. He still couldn't think of the night he'd taken the Dark Mark without breaking into a sweat and wanting to be sick, and without Occlumency he would still have nightmares about it.

He thought he was having a nightmare now, when the new recruit was brought forward and his hood was removed to reveal Draco Malfoy. Severus stared in pure horror, frozen to the spot for a moment. _Oh, no. Not this. Not yet. Not yet, damnit! _He had known that it was inevitable that Draco and his year mates would almost all choose to take the Dark Mark and join the Death Eaters, but only once they'd left school. The Dark Lord never recruited anyone underage... his mind started to race as several very unpleasant possibilities occurred to him. _Oh, God, no. You stupid boy, what have you done? _Behind his mask, he sank his teeth into his lower lip and concentrated on his breathing as the ceremony got under way.

There were a few differences. Draco's parents stood as his sponsors; Narcissa was trying to look proud, but Severus had known her for a long time and he could see the fear in her eyes. They both knew that this was partly a punishment for Lucius' failure. Lucius knew it too; his old friend looked grim, tired and harassed. Draco himself looked smugly proud and arrogant, with just the faintest flicker in his eyes to suggest that he wasn't sure what he was getting himself into; the boy didn't even have sense enough to be afraid as he spoke the words. Had the ceremony been the same as it had been during the first war, that smugness would have been destroyed very quickly. Severus watched with grim resignation as his godson stretched out his left arm and received the Mark, and screamed with the pain of the branding, but kept his feet bravely.

He wanted to speak to the Malfoys after the meeting was over, but there was no chance. He didn't really want Draco to see him like this anyway; the boy knew his honorary uncle was a Death Eater, of course, but knowing something and seeing it were two different things. There was time only to exchange a fleeting glance with Lucius before they departed; he had never seen his old friend look like that before. And then Voldemort addressed him directly, holding him back to explain why he had chosen to initiate Draco.

Severus chose not to Apparate straight home, instead going to a spot several miles from his house and walking the rest of the way, trying to clear his head. It wasn't to spy on the spy, at least, he tried to comfort himself; his master would know that Draco couldn't learn anything that way. Voldemort trusted him. That wasn't comforting at all, really, given the circumstances. Poor Draco had no chance of succeeding; Severus knew he couldn't let it happen. Even if, terrible though the thought was, that might mean that he had to kill his own godson, a boy he'd known since he was born. God, he hoped it wouldn't come to that. But right now, he had to go and talk to Dumbledore.

* * *

><p>Professor Dumbledore had been at Headquarters when Hermione had arrived, along with Moody and Tonks. The younger Auror had been pleased to see her, at least; Moody had seemed quite impressed when she had carefully explained that she thought it would be safer to get her parents out of the country and stay in Grimmauld Place, rather than sitting in a defenceless Muggle town jumping at every strange noise and worrying herself to death, but the Headmaster had seemed almost annoyed or at least slightly inconvenienced. She'd barely seen him since, but he'd been his usual twinkly smiling self.<p>

She was quite enjoying herself, strangely. Her friends wouldn't be joining her for a week or two yet, probably, and since she was the only 'child' in the house, most of the Order members coming in and out weren't taking so much care about security and she was learning more about them. Not about their plans, necessarily, but she was building up a much clearer picture of who was in the Order and how their power structure worked. She was also enjoying having access to the library, now that all the dangerous or Dark books had been safely purged, and had redone quite a few pieces of homework with the new knowledge she now had access to. And she had Phineas' portrait for company, which made a nice change, passing on gossip from Hogwarts – not that there was much happening there over the summer – and shamelessly offering to help her to eavesdrop whenever anyone forgot to clear any picture frames from a meeting room.

The house did feel strange with Sirius gone, but it wasn't as if she'd seen much of him when he had been there, really. She had grieved for him a little, but she was more worried about Harry than anything else, since she still wasn't allowed to contact him. In his absence there were no full-time residents in Headquarters, but plenty of people drifted in and out so she was never left completely alone – Snape himself came and went more frequently, although he usually didn't seem to have the time or the inclination to talk and was often clearly on some private business of his own. He seemed rather harried and stressed, the few times she saw him, and had started sleeping here once or twice a week – when pressed for an explanation in the hallway by McGonagall, he had replied shortly and irritably that Peter Pettigrew had been set to watch him and he wanted to spend as little time with the rat as possible, which was certainly fair enough.

One of the most memorable encounters took place a few days after her arrival; Hermione was in the library when she heard Mrs Black's portrait start screaming abuse again, and when she poked her head out into the hallway she found Snape standing near the portrait with his arms folded across his chest, looking bored. Curious, she padded close enough to hear what the painting was shouting at him.

"_Mongrel filth! Traitor! Faithless worm!_"

"I think she likes you, sir," she ventured dryly; this was the first chance she'd had to speak to him since he'd left her outside Headquarters. She had no idea what he did if he needed medical assistance during the summer holidays; maybe he had Madam Pomfrey's home address or something, but it was more likely that he simply endured it.

He snorted. "As unimaginative as the rest of her family," he said disdainfully over the portrait's ravings.

"Mongrel?" she asked. "The rest makes sense – from the point of view of an insane pureblood snob, anyway – but... mongrel?"

"Think about it," he replied, absently studying his fingernails and pointedly ignoring the ranting woman pointing at him and screaming. "You are Muggleborn, which makes you a mere animal or simply a freak, something to be thought of with contempt and almost pity. I am a half-blood, which means that one of the superior magic users lowered themselves enough to breed with a Muggle; I am therefore something of a perversion and at the very least a mixed-breed mistake." He rolled his eyes. "Once she runs out of epithets, she'll probably explain this theory in more detail. Again."

"You could just walk away, sir," Hermione pointed out cautiously.

"Yes," he agreed. "I could also silence her, permanently."

"Really?" Nobody else had been able to, and quite a few people had tried.

"Oh, yes," he replied absently. "It's not difficult."

"Then why don't you, Professor?"

He offered her the faint ghost of a smirk. "Guess."

Hermione grinned. "You like listening to her insulting the others."

"Now, Miss Granger, would I be so petty?" he asked sarcastically. "For your information, you are wrong. I enjoy watching them get frustrated and tiptoe around pandering to a dead woman instead of doing something to actually shut her up." He drew his wand and flicked it almost lazily at the portrait, and the curtains snapped shut over a final stream of shrieked profanity that made Hermione blink.

"I've never heard her actually swear at anyone else before."

For a man who had just been told that he had had a very unhealthy relationship with his grandmother and suffered from a number of humiliating personal problems and a few nasty diseases, Snape looked surprisingly amused still. "Clearly, I am a special case," he drawled, turning away.

"Sir, I had a question."

"I find that very hard to believe," he replied mockingly, turning to sneer at her, his dark eyes glittering with faint laughter. "What is it this time?"

"Where did the money come from?"

She had caught him off guard; he was silent for just a fraction of a second too long before replying blandly, "What money?" and the furrow that had appeared between his brows looked more annoyed than puzzled. Hermione made herself meet his eyes squarely, which wasn't easy. His expression was totally unreadable now, his eyes blank and smooth as polished obsidian and holding just as much emotion. _Bloody Occlumency. _After a long moment, when she didn't answer, he looked away before turning on his heel and striding for the door.

Biting her lip, she watched him leave, wishing she'd been wrong. She didn't want to owe him three hundred quid, especially since she didn't have that much. Her savings account was linked to her Gringotts vault, but whichever currency you converted it into, she didn't have anywhere near enough, and she couldn't access her parents' money; besides, she knew Snape well enough by now to know that he would never accept it if she tried to pay him back. He had his own mysterious reasons for acting the way he did and he wouldn't tolerate further questions or an attempt to redress the balance.

_Stubborn, irritating man. _Sighing, she turned away and returned to the library.

* * *

><p>Ordinarily, a summons from Dumbledore would have seriously angered him, especially in the middle of the night and especially when Wormtail was unfortunately in the house, but Severus knew tonight would be different simply because it was Fawkes who came to get him and brought him directly into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts; that had never happened before. He had never been transported by a phoenix; the experience was one he could have done without, since it was extremely disorientating, and by the time the flames had receded from his vision he had a headache, but he was already taking in the scene before him.<p>

Dumbledore was slumped over in his chair, panting and clutching his wrist; the fingers of his right hand were black and looked very badly burned, particularly the ring finger, which seemed to be encircled by a ring of blood. Presumably that had been caused by the ring that lay on the desk in front of the old man next to Godric Gryffindor's sword, with some kind of black stone that was now cracked in two.

"What happened?" Severus asked rather blankly as he hurried forward and dropped into a crouch to examine the burned hand, ignoring the cracks of protest from his knees.

"Cursed ring," one of the portraits told him succinctly.

_No shit, Sherlock. _Keeping the retort to himself, Severus examined the hand, noticing that the blackness was spreading even as he watched. It wasn't a true burn; there were no blisters, no raw flesh. Instead, the hand seemed to be drying out, turning black and withered – some kind of corruption curse, perhaps. Drawing his wand, Severus glanced briefly at Dumbledore's face; the old man was barely conscious and looked almost drunk and was obviously only vaguely aware of what was happening.

Trying not to bite his lip – best to lose that habit as soon as possible; he was still furious at having picked it up in the first place – Severus started work, discovering quickly that he had never seen this particular curse before, that it was extremely dark and very virulent. Swearing softly to himself, he managed to get a temporary stasis on the affected area and went running, sprinting frantically through the dark and empty castle and nearly killing himself several times as he vaulted blindly down the endless stairs to the dungeons and his lab to raid his Potions supplies.

He had no idea what he was doing, frankly, trusting to instinct as he worked feverishly to concoct a potion that was partly a healing potion but would mostly help to strengthen the old man and keep his magic free of the corruption; hopefully it would also help to keep the curse at bay long enough for Severus to try and work out a counter. He barely let himself breathe until the final colour change gave him the deep gold he had been hoping for, and the run from his quarters back up to the Headmaster's office had never seemed so long.

The potion helped restore Dumbledore to something approaching lucidity, enough for him to explain a little of what had happened; Severus listened with half an ear as he worked on trying to establish the exact nature of the curse consuming the old man's hand. He had come back to Hogwarts, managed to get the thing off and smashed it with Gryffindor's sword for some utterly insane reason.

"Why, _why _did you put on that ring?" he asked finally in sheer disbelief, shaking his head desperately as he tried to bind the curse and stop it. He had a terrible feeling that he wasn't going to be able to counter it. "It carries a curse, surely you realised that. Why even touch it?" Dumbledore wasn't that bloody stupid. Gritting his teeth, he kept going grimly, muttering to himself in a mixture of Latin, Greek and anything else he could think of, hoping to get lucky.

"I... was a fool," Dumbledore admitted hoarsely. "Sorely tempted..."

"Tempted by what?" he asked, pausing for a moment to look more closely at the ring. It didn't look like anything special and didn't match any known artefacts he could think of. The symbol on it was hard to see because of the crack in the stone, but it looked like it might be Grindelwald's old badge. God, was that all? Some stupid, insane nostalgic moment? And for that, the old man might have sentenced himself to death, because now Severus knew he couldn't eradicate this curse. It was too deeply rooted already, too strong. _Shit._

Oddly, the thought that Dumbledore was probably dying actually caused him some pain, a dull ache in his chest. That was a little surprising, actually. Severus hated Dumbledore, he truly did, and had done ever since he was a boy; he served him out of necessity, nothing more. He grudgingly respected his employer up to a point, but nowhere near as much as most people did, and he would never like him. But the old man was all he had left to believe in, the only tiny, fragile scrap of faith he had left. More than that... the Headmaster _was _the Order, in a way. They would be lost without him – in fact, they would probably lose without him, _Chosen One _or no. The war might very well have been lost tonight.

Close to panic, he looked up and said furiously, "It is a miracle you managed to return here! That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power; to contain it is all we can hope for. I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being..."

Dumbledore lifted his hand and studied it with an expression of mild interest. "You have done very well, Severus," he said, with around the same inflection he would have used to praise a dog who had just done a clever trick. "How long do you think I have?"

_For fuck's sake, you could at least sound upset! Are you completely stoned? _Unlike Severus himself, Dumbledore actually enjoyed life and surely couldn't be as sanguine as he was pretending to be about the possibility of death approaching. He hesitated, before replying reluctantly, "I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread, eventually; it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time." He hated to be beaten, but this was beyond even his skill to counter.

"I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus."

_Good boy, do you want a biscuit? Piss off. _The words stung, because he wanted so desperately to believe that they were sincere and yet he knew they weren't. Nobody was lucky to have him around. Feeling rather unstable at the moment and grateful for his Occlumency to keep the worst of the shock and fear at bay, he snapped angrily, "If you had only summoned me a little earlier I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!" Turning his head, he stared at the ring and the sword, still confused and well aware that Dumbledore wasn't telling him the full story. "Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?"

"Something like that... I was delirious, no doubt..." Dumbledore replied vaguely, forcing himself to sit straight in his chair and just like that returning to business. "Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward." Despite himself, he stared at his employer. _What the fuck are you on about now? _The old man smiled, gently mocking his obvious confusion. "I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me."

Hauling himself to his feet, Severus walked around the desk and sank wearily into the chair opposite, feeling tired and drained. His arm had started stinging with the use of that name, and it was odd that Dumbledore had given him a title, and he wanted to point out that _the poor Malfoy boy _had a name, but they didn't have time to get sidetracked. Scowling, he repeated impatiently, "The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius' recent failures. Slow torture for Draco's parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price."

"In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have," Dumbledore said serenely, seeming unruffled by either of their fates. "Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"

Severus paused for a moment; he'd been trying not to think about that. "That, I think, is the Dark Lord's plan," he allowed finally, swallowing. It wouldn't be the first time or even the thirty-first time he'd been ordered to commit murder, and it wouldn't even be the first time he'd killed someone he knew, but...

"Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?"

"He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes," he replied reluctantly. It was starting to look all too likely.

"And if it does fall into his grasp, I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?"

Seriously insulted, Severus nodded stiffly, gritting his teeth. He already did just that. He bled for these children, every week, nearly killing himself to try and keep them alive. Dumbledore should know that by now.

Apparently ignorant of the insult he'd just given, Dumbledore continued calmly, "Good. Now, then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept; he likes you –"

"– much less since his father lost favour," Severus interrupted, still annoyed and yet oddly reassured by the conversation. Dumbledore sounded like he had a plan, at least. "Draco blames me; he thinks I have usurped Lucius' position."

"All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy." That was a valid concern; Draco tended to panic at the best of times, and never considered other people. "Ultimately, of course," he continued briskly, "there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort's wrath."

Severus ignored the twinge in his arm and raised his eyebrows before asking sarcastically, "Are you intending to let him kill you?" That certainly would simplify things...

"Certainly not. _You _must kill me."

He stared rather blankly at the old man, wondering if he had heard correctly. With no idea what to think or say, he fell back on sarcasm, and asked bitingly, "Would you like me to do it now? Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?"

"Oh, not quite yet," the Headmaster replied urbanely – he was actually smiling. "I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight, we can be sure it will happen within a year."

"If you don't mind dying," he said roughly, "why not let Draco do it?" The boy would be punished if he failed, if Severus had to do it for him. And he was so tired of killing and bloodshed, even though he didn't want to put his godson through that shocking loss of innocence.

As though echoing his thoughts, Dumbledore replied quietly, "The boy's soul is not yet so damaged. I would not have it ripped apart on my account."

That hurt, truly hurt, in the small battered fragile corner of him that still wanted to prove that he wasn't total scum. "And my soul, Dumbledore?" he asked in little more than a whisper, already knowing the answer. "Mine?" His soul didn't matter. He was already lost beyond redemption, so what was one more murder? He didn't object to further condemning himself in order to spare Draco, but he was so damned tired of confronting just how unimportant he really was.

"You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation," Dumbledore told him softly. Those were empty words, and Severus knew it; there was no such thing as a mercy killing, not in this world. This wouldn't be a Healer gently easing someone's passing when age and disease had struck them down cruelly; this was the premature ending of a life without due cause, and it was murder, and he knew he would never recover from it, not this time.

He also knew that there was no choice. A cold weight seemed to have settled on his shoulders as he looked back at his master hopelessly, preparing to agree to damn himself beyond all hope of salvation. But Dumbledore could never resist adding that last little twist, pushing just that little bit too far, and kept speaking.

"I ask this one great favour of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year's league. I confess, I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved – I hear Voldemort has recruited him? Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it."

_Damn you, old man. You don't always need to force me kicking and screaming and you don't need emotional blackmail. For once, can't you just simply ask, and trust that I will do the right thing on my own without needing to be talked through it step by step? _The brief anger was pointless, and didn't last. Severus met his master's eyes dully, feeling the crushing inevitability of the future settling onto him, one more burden among many. Finally, slowly, he nodded, and felt something else die inside him as he did so.

"Thank you, Severus."

_Don't thank me. Not for this._

* * *

><p>Hermione jerked awake to the sound of her own voice screaming, choking the sound off hastily as tears started to run down her face. She hadn't had a nightmare since leaving home and had thought she was past that... apparently not. Shuddering and gasping, she wiped her face shakily on her sleeve, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the crash of a door being flung open from out in the hallway.<p>

"Granger, something demonic had better have just crawled out from under your bed and tried to eat you," Snape growled sleepily and irritably from outside her door, "because if you just nearly gave me a heart attack because a spider walked on your face or something, I am going to lose my temper."

Apparently she had screamed rather more loudly than she usually did after bad dreams, Hermione processed slowly as her racing heart started to slow down. She really wasn't in the mood to be shouted at, though, and ignored him as she concentrated on finding tissues and trying to stop crying. Already the details of the nightmare were fading, which she was grateful for; seeing it once had been bad enough.

"Miss Granger?" Snape asked, sounding rather less hostile. "Are you all right?"

Finally managing to clear her nose and throat to the point where she could talk, Hermione raised her voice. "Sorry, sir. Just a nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you." Silence greeted this pronouncement, before she heard his footsteps receding as he presumably went back to bed. Fine; she didn't want sympathy anyway, she told herself, wriggling to sit back against the headboard and blowing her nose again and wishing that Crookshanks was here – right now she very much wanted something warm and soft to cuddle, and if it was fluffy and could purr as well that would be a nice bonus.

It took a while for the tears to stop. She leaned her aching head against the wall and wondered if she dared go to the bathroom for a glass of water, before realising the stupidity of the thought and nearly laughing as she fumbled for her wand. Sipping at the conjured drink helped the soreness in her throat, but she didn't think she could sleep again now. She nearly dropped the glass when there was a tap at her door, choking for a moment before managing to call uncertainly, "Yes?"

"May I come in?" Even though there was nobody else in the house at the moment, it was still a jolt to hear Snape's voice again, especially since she thought he had gone back to bed. Hermione looked around the room hastily, scrambling out of bed to find her dressing gown despite the heat; once she was decent, she opened the door cautiously. Her professor stood in the hallway, looking rather scruffy and dishevelled and still half asleep, wearing what turned out to be his teaching robes hanging open over a long and slightly threadbare faded grey nightshirt. He was holding a mug in each hand, and now held one out towards her. "Here," he said gruffly.

Hermione took the mug out of reflex and sniffed it, before giving him an incredulous look. "Chai tea? You drink chai tea?"

"Sometimes, yes."

Remembering her manners, she stepped back from the doorway, watching him a little uncertainly. "Thank you, sir." He shrugged in response and padded into her room; he was barefoot, which explained why she hadn't heard him approach her door again. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"So you said. And yet, you did wake me." Snape folded his thin frame to sit cross-legged on the end of her bed, scooting back to lean against the wall and taking a sip of his tea; his dark eyes watched her thoughtfully as she awkwardly sat on the other end of the bed and turned to face him. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, sir. It was just a bad dream." She sipped her own tea and blinked; amidst the spices and the sweetness of extra sugar, she was pretty sure there was brandy in it, or at least something alcoholic. "...I'm only sixteen, sir."

He snorted softly and absently scratched a half-healed cut on his shin, balancing his mug on his knee. "You've been drinking Butterbeer since you were thirteen; weak as that stuff is, it's still alcoholic. There's not enough in the tea to get a house elf drunk. You need it, in any case. Nobody screams like that for 'just a bad dream'. Night terrors aren't to be taken lightly, Miss Granger."

"It wasn't a night terror, sir. I don't even remember most of it now, but it was just a nightmare about – about the Ministry. I've been dreaming about it since it happened, but it's getting better. Before tonight I hadn't had a nightmare for nearly two weeks."

Snape gave her a penetrating stare, before nodding slowly, apparently believing her. Which was good of him, since it was the truth. More awkwardly, Hermione added, "You didn't need to do this, sir. I'm grateful, but... I'm all right, really. And..."

He arched an eyebrow sardonically at her. "And it's strange to see anything human from Professor Snape?" he asked bitingly. "Come now, Miss Granger. I have been a Head of House for fifteen years. Do you really imagine this is the first time I've been dragged out of bed because a teenage girl is having nightmares? Slytherin children aren't aliens; they have the same problems as Gryffindor children, I assure you, and I am familiar with bad dreams myself." He took another sip of tea. "Think of something else to talk about, then. If you sleep now, in this mood, your dreams will be worse, and I don't want to be woken by your screaming again. Besides, I am hardly in a mood conducive to restful slumber either."

_Are you ever? _She managed not to say it out loud, but it was a close thing. She was pretty sure he knew what she was thinking anyway, judging by the arch of one eyebrow as he looked at her, and grabbed hastily at the first subject she could think of that wasn't too unpleasant. "Well, sir, I did want to ask you something about last week..."

His eyes turned a shade wary as he looked at her guardedly. "Yes?"

"Creating the Portkey."

He relaxed a little, and she wondered briefly what he had thought she was going to ask. "What about it?"

"Well, I've never – shared someone else's magic like that before, but... is it supposed to feel strange?"

"It can do, sometimes. Strange, how?"

"Er, it's a bit hard to describe, but... well, your magic felt very different to mine. I mean, I know we're very different people, so it was bound to feel different, but it seemed more so than I would have expected."

"Go on," he replied neutrally.

"It felt – colder than mine, somehow, and... the sense of power was different. Slower, but stronger, if that makes sense, and... darker? Not in the sense of – of the Dark Arts, or anything, but... Oh, I don't know, sir. I can't describe it."

Snape had raised both eyebrows in what looked like genuine surprise. "Interesting. Most people would not have sensed it." He looked thoughtful. "Very interesting indeed," he mused. "What you felt... it's not an accepted part of magical theory these days and it's not really _important, _as such, but – you know of the concept of elemental magic?"

"Yes, sir."

"Every witch or wizard has an affinity, if you like, with a certain element. It gives their magic certain characteristics. It doesn't affect magical strength or ability, merely adds a sort of background flavour to what they do. Ollivander the wand maker has studied it, a little; he thinks it is part of what determines a person's affinity for their own particular wand. Most people pay no attention to it; the ability to tell one from another is quite rare."

"Can you do it?"

"Yes," he affirmed. "It seems that you can, as well. It is a fairly useless skill, though. The vast majority of witches and wizards, probably a good seventy per cent, are aligned to fire, and most of the rest are earth."

"What element is your magic, sir?"

His eyes glittered briefly in the dimness of her bedroom. "Guess."

She thought about it, but it wasn't much of a leap. That slow, inexorable surge of cool and relentless power... "Water."

"Yes."

"Is that why you use water as your visualisation?" she asked, remembering the dark, quiet ocean of his mind.

"Not consciously, but it is probably a part of the reason, yes," he agreed. "Water seems to be the rarest alignment. And speaking of visualisation... you should continue with your Occlumency. It will help clear your thoughts and control your emotions, as well as easing some of your nightmares."

"Yes, sir. What elemental alignment am I, sir?" When his eyes glittered again before he opened his mouth, she added, "Please, don't make me guess again. I'm too tired."

He snorted softly and relented. "Air, Miss Granger; it is almost as rare as water, but not quite. And to forestall your asking about every single mutual acquaintance we have... let's see. Potter is fire, as his parents both were, and as is the Headmaster, and the Dark Lord. So are most of the Death Eaters, and most of the Order. Interestingly, all the Weasleys are earth, as are Poppy Pomfrey and Kingsley Shacklebolt – and Narcissa Malfoy, although her husband, her son and her sisters are fire. Professor Flitwick is air, like you. The other professors are fire, except for myself."

"Do you know anyone else who is water?"

"No."

"Is it inherited, sir? You said the Weasleys were all earth..."

"I don't know. As I said, it is not something that has been studied in any depth."

"What element is your mother's magic?"

A strange expression flickered briefly through his eyes, one that made her regret asking without really knowing why. "I don't know," he said after a pause. "I very seldom saw her use magic." His use of the past tense told her everything she needed to know, and she winced.

"I –"

Snape shook his head, cutting her off. "If you needed to apologise, I would have demanded it already, rather than answering you. I have never hesitated to tell you to stop asking questions, after all."

She smiled a little. "That's true." Relaxing, she leaned back and slowly sipped at the last of her tea while it was still warm, savouring the sweetness and the spices. Hermione still had no idea why he'd done this, but she was grateful. It was actually surprisingly... nice of him. Part of her had to admit, rather uncharitably, that _nice _and _Professor Snape _were antithetical concepts and that it was a bit suspicious if not downright creepy; still, she appreciated the gesture anyway, whatever his motives.

"You should try to sleep once more," he said softly after a while, his deep voice quiet.

"I don't think that's very likely, sir."

"Oh? Why not?" he asked.

She hadn't actually meant to say it aloud; too many nights with too little sleep were taking their toll, and around this man in particular she needed to guard her tongue. Hermione shrugged, hoping he would lose interest; surely he wanted to go back to bed as well. However, the black eyes fixed on hers didn't look particularly sleepy now. Looking away, she stared into the empty mug and admitted quietly, "This house feels so... empty, with everyone else away. I... it doesn't really feel... safe."

After a pause Snape said a little stiffly, "I am still here. Although I can understand why that might come as small consolation."

Realising that she'd stung his pride, Hermione shook her head hastily, glancing up at him briefly before embarrassment made her drop her eyes again. "That's not what I meant, sir, and I'm sorry for implying it. I trust you, and I know you could deal with anything in the house, and I know nobody can get past the Fidelius Charm. I – I think it's more a psychological thing. I feel a bit stupid really, but I'm just – not really used to sleeping in such an empty house. At home there was always Crookshanks, and my parents were only next door. And at school there are the other girls in my dormitory." On the verge of babbling, she made herself shut up and bit her lip, risking another glance at her teacher.

He was watching her quietly, his dark eyes intent and thoughtful and surprisingly free of judgement or mockery; she had the feeling he understood what she was trying to say, probably better than she did. "I am only a short way down the corridor," he pointed out softly. His lips twitched. "Within screaming distance."

She smiled slightly despite herself; weirdly, it did actually make her feel better. "I know. I'm being irrational."

"Of all the myriad adjectives I have used to describe you, Miss Granger, 'irrational' is a very long way down the list." His tone was dry, and she smiled a little more to realise that he was apparently trying to tease her out of her dark mood; he really wasn't acting like Professor Snape. _I suppose he _is _on holiday, after all, _she told herself whimsically.

Feeling better, she screwed up her courage, and managed to say, "Sir, could you..." before it deserted her again and she faltered before shaking her head. "Never mind."

Snape cocked his head and looked at her. "What is it?"

Biting her lip, she looked away, unable to face him now as she felt her face starting to heat. "No, it doesn't matter."

"Ask. You have never been reticent about asking questions and I refuse to believe you have started now."

"I can't," she mumbled, blushing harder and wishing she had never said anything as she stared down at the bed. "I feel like such a child."

"Miss Granger," Snape said gently, "you are sixteen years old and part of a war you should never have been exposed to. You have seen and done more in the last few months than most people do in their entire lives. Your family are effectively in exile and hiding from assassins, and only a few weeks ago you were in a fight for your life, your first battle, where you were wounded quite seriously and finally saw our enemy in the flesh for the first time. I think, under the circumstances, you are entitled to feel a little vulnerable. Now, ask whatever it is you are too frightened to ask of me. I promise, the worst I shall do is say no."

Twisting her fingers together and catching her lower lip between her teeth again, she took a deep breath and finally managed to whisper, "Could you... stay here? Please?"

There was a terrible silence; when she dared to look up, he was staring at her, looking utterly stunned. Suddenly blushing again when she realised what she had actually said, Hermione stammered, "I – I didn't mean –"

Snape blinked and looked faintly embarrassed in turn; apparently he hadn't even registered how inappropriate her request could have been interpreted. "I know you didn't. I understood what you meant." He still looked peculiarly shocked, though; apparently someone asking him for comfort and protection was a very rare occurrence. After a long moment his expression went blank as he regained his senses, and he exhaled heavily before looking away and staring into the darkness of her bedroom. "...I will stay for a little while," he said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Until you fall asleep."

He didn't sound happy about it, which she could hardly blame him for. Insomniac or not, he probably wanted to go back to bed, and regardless of the circumstances he would be in a great deal of trouble if the Order found out that he was sitting in her bedroom when nobody else was in the house, and Snape had never had any patience for what he called 'childish histrionics.' Still, he had agreed, which she had never expected. Torn between feeling better and feeling horribly embarrassed, she said in a small voice, "Thank you, sir." He nodded without looking at her and she awkwardly slid out of her dressing gown and got into bed as he stared intently at the far wall.

Despite the awkwardness, she had to admit she felt better once she was settled. She could feel the way the mattress dipped down by her feet where he was sitting, she could faintly smell the scent of his soap and the tea and the scent of Snape himself – a combination of something fresh and mineral that seemed somehow familiar, the faint copper of old blood and the earthy herbal notes of whatever potions he had been working with recently – and it was so quiet that if she strained her ears she could hear his breathing. There was no earthly reason why his presence should make her feel safer; this was Snape, murderer, traitor, Death Eater, double agent and self-confessed bastard. If anything, she should feel more frightened; but she didn't. He was certainly capable of dealing with pretty much anything that could possibly happen, and for whatever peculiar reason, she trusted him. Closing her eyes, she relaxed and sank surprisingly easily into deep, dreamless sleep, and she never heard him leave.

* * *

><p>In his own room once more, some time later, Severus lay awake and stared at the ceiling, still a little confused by what had happened tonight. It all seemed so logical, as he reviewed the chain of events; a bit awkward, perhaps, since he really wasn't an expert on making anyone feel better, but anyone who was Head of Slytherin learned very quickly how to deal with nightmares. Calm them, change the subject, talk about something innocuous until they grew tired, then leave them to sleep once more. The tea hadn't been part of that, admittedly, but still, it had all made sense until she'd asked him to stay.<p>

Despite her obvious embarrassment, it hadn't actually occurred to Severus to read any innuendo into the request. In hindsight, that was rather depressing and surely indicated that his libido was definitely on the way out, although that was probably for the best, given the circumstances. He hadn't for an instant thought that she was propositioning him – he was a realist; no woman of any age ever did such a thing even in his wildest, darkest dreams. It had been the request itself that had completely floored him. He'd been thinking about it since returning to his own rooms – there was no way in hell _he _was going to get to sleep again now – and he couldn't recall a single other instance in his entire thirty six and a half years of life when someone else had shown him that level of trust. It confused him, and unnerved him a little, and somewhat irrationally annoyed him, but it also fractionally managed to ease a little of the lonely cold sensation that had left him hollow for so long.

He closed his eyes and saw her sleeping face once more, her features softening and the little worried crease between her brows disappearing. She looked even younger asleep, her insane hair all but hiding the pillow, and surprisingly vulnerable for a girl with such a strong personality. It should have made him feel like a bastard, the way he'd been feeling for months, but it hadn't. Instead it had just made him wonder uneasily what he would do if he was ever faced with a choice between protecting her and maintaining his cover; he was no longer sure what his choice would be, and that was dangerous, not only for him – and for her, if anyone found out – but for the whole war effort.

Sighing, he shifted onto his side and curled up, dragging his blanket over his head despite the muggy summer night. "You're going to be the death of me, Granger," he muttered, closing his eyes and pursuing the sleep that eluded him. "You might even beat the Dark Lord to it." He almost hoped so.

* * *

><p><em>As if he doesn't have enough to worry about already. And the summer still isn't over...<br>_


	15. Chapter 15

_And so the busy summer winds down before sixth year begins... fun times lie ahead for all.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"I've become much too good at being invincible<br>I'm an expert at play it safe, and keep it cool  
>But I swear this isn't who I'm meant to be<br>I refuse to let my life roll all over me..."**  
>– Bethany Joy Lenz, 'Let Me Fall'.<p>

* * *

><p>Well, Severus mused rather dizzily as the door closed behind the sisters – with a bit of an effort; it stuck sometimes, damp had got into the wood years ago and he never had got around to fixing it – the summer had definitely just taken a turn for the worse. Not much of one, though, he supposed... it didn't really <em>change <em>anything, after all. It just made it a lot more... real. He stared down at his hands, slowly and mechanically rolling his sleeves up to look at the red lines wrapped around his wrists. In an hour or two those would fade, and wouldn't reappear again until the vow was fulfilled. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt as if it ought to.

He'd never made an Unbreakable Vow before. _I've never been this bloody stupid before, _he told himself sourly; he hadn't exactly had a choice. If it had just been Narcissa, he could have refused her – well, Narcissa would never have asked it of him. They would have talked about it and he could have reassured her and that would have been that. But Bellatrix... well, there were lots of different parts to the story. One, Bellatrix was completely and utterly bat-shit crazy, absolutely fucking bonkers. Two, she was unbelievably paranoid even by Slytherin standards. Three, she hated him, although perhaps not as much as he hated her. Four, she was totally obsessed with their master and ridiculously protective of any perceived threat to him. Five, she was jealous that Severus had his favour at the moment and she did not.

If he had been free to act, he would have told her where to go and thrown her out of his house so hard that she bounced. Narcissa wouldn't even have said anything, as long as he still agreed to help Draco. But with Wormtail eavesdropping, and with Bellatrix herself so clearly about to report him as a traitor, he had had no choice but to go along with her suggestion and bind himself by the strongest magical oath in existence.

Only it wasn't strong enough, not by half, he told himself a little hysterically, refastening his shirt cuffs somewhat shakily. His personal obligations and debts weighed on him more strongly than any formal vow ever could. He had been prepared to do what he could to help Draco anyway, but – and this was the key – only up to a point. He loved the boy, in his way; the Malfoys were the closest he had to a family. But, important though Draco was to him, the final plan was more important.

And, God, he'd been luckier than he could ever deserve today. Thank the Lord that Bellatrix was as impulsive and blind as any Gryffindor could ever be; she lacked the twisted cunning of a Slytherin these days, too used to instant gratification and too damned insane to think straight. She'd left herself totally open, and it had only needed the faintest touch, the merest whisper of a suggestion to change one crucial word. Licking his lips, Severus grinned to himself a little nervously, without humour. Instead of swearing the Vow in Draco's name, he'd sworn on behalf of _his godson. _If it came to it, if he found himself needing a way out, a hastily scribbled sentence and a signature and a single drop of blood would ensure that he no longer had a godson. Hence, no Vow.

At least, he hoped so. There was no reason why it shouldn't work, but he'd never heard of anyone managing to cheat the Unbreakable Vow before. He sat back in his chair and exhaled slowly, shaking his head. It didn't change anything. The plan would still go ahead. Dumbledore was still dying, and Draco was still bound to try and murder him, and Severus had still promised to do it. But at least this way he could do it on his terms; he wasn't going to be forced into anything unless he truly had no other option, and he certainly wasn't going to let Bellatrix bloody Lestrange dictate his actions. Part of him was still hoping to find a way out of this mess, somehow.

A creak on the stairs pulled him back to reality, and he snarled, abruptly losing his temper and coming to a decision. It was stupid, it was risky, but he was fed up with this. Drawing his wand, he flicked it, opening the hidden door; he'd built the concealed stairway and the room at the top of it as his own bolthole if needed, somewhere to hide should it become necessary, but now it had been turned into a rat cage. "I've warned you about eavesdropping, Wormtail," he said coldly. "Do I have to enforce the lesson to get you to obey?" _Give me a reason, Marauder. I dare you._

Pettigrew blinked watery eyes at him resentfully. "You wouldn't dare. Our master –"

"– doesn't give a flying fuck about you," Severus interrupted contemptuously. "You're a fool if you think otherwise."

"I brought him back!"

"Because you were too scared to disobey and because nobody else would have you," he replied with a sneer. "You're not a hero to our cause, Wormtail. How much did you overhear?"

His eyes flicked from side to side. "N-nothing."

"Don't lie to me. _Crucio._"

Severus didn't keep the curse on him for very long. He didn't trust himself not to keep it up until Pettigrew ended up like Frank and Alice Longbottom, truthfully. He didn't like using the Unforgiveables and he didn't enjoy causing pain, not the way some of the others did, but for Wormtail he made an exception, because the rat was a Marauder and because the rat had betrayed Lily.

"How much did you overhear?" he repeated in a dangerously soft voice once Pettigrew had shaken off the worst.

"...I hate you, Snivellus."

"The feeling is mutual," he replied icily, suppressing the automatic flare of rage and hate at the old despised nickname. At least with Black dead he didn't have to hear it very often any more. "This is your last chance before I start cutting more bits off you. How much. Did you. Overhear?"

Pettigrew broke first, as if there had ever been any doubt. "All of it."

"Good."

"Wh-what?"

Severus gave him a very cold smile and wondered if it looked as unpleasant as it felt. "Good," he repeated silkily. "Because it means that you can return to our master and tell him what a dedicated and faithful servant I am. Now, go and make your report like a good dog. No, not a dog – the dog is dead, isn't he? Tragic, that. Anyway, run along and sing my praises. And Wormtail, make it convincing."

The rat hesitated in the doorway. "Why did you do it? Would you really... kill Dumbledore?"

Very slowly, Severus stood up and looked at him. "Dumbledore," he said softly. "The Headmaster who was sworn to protect and guard all his students. He never once tried to stop you and your little friends, Wormtail. He turned a blind eye to everything you did to me. He has never taken my side over anything in more than twenty years. Even now, he neither likes me nor wholly trusts me, despite everything I've done for him. Why should I hesitate about killing him? Revenge is a dish best served cold."

Pettigrew swallowed, staring at him rather nervously.

"Now go and make your report," he spat, tiring of the game. Everything he had said was true; he really did hate the old man. He hated a lot of people, but he would still hesitate before killing them... Most of them, anyway. "And hurry back afterwards, will you? I want a couple of words with you tonight."

* * *

><p>"The Unbreakable Vow," Dumbledore commented thoughtfully. "I didn't expect that. Still, it will only help to convince them of your sincerity."<p>

"Yes, it's absolutely wonderful," Severus replied sourly, resisting the urge to rub his wrists again. It was all psychological; the lines were already gone and there was nothing to see or feel. It just felt as if there should be. "I'm so glad you're pleased. I only swore to infuriate Bellatrix anyway; she's going to spend weeks wondering what I'm up to."

"Never guessing that you told her openly," the Headmaster mused.

"Honesty confuses us Death Eaters," Severus said nastily. "We're not used to hearing it."

"Very droll, I'm sure," his employer said, giving him a look of rebuke. "You're committed now, Severus."

"I ought to have been committed years ago."

The Headmaster ignored the joke, such as it was. "So, we have one year. At the end of the year, everything is going to change."

"Yes."

"Under the circumstances, then... you might as well teach Defence this year, if you still want the job."

"What?" Shocked, Severus stared at him blankly for a moment. Cursing the small part of him that felt pleased, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't trust me," he said bluntly.

"Don't be melodramatic, Severus."

"_Do _you trust me?"

"Once again, there were no other applicants for the post. You certainly know enough about the subject to be qualified to teach it, and there is no chance of my securing anyone else, not this time. I believe I can persuade Horace to come out of retirement for a year, so your Potions students will be in good hands."

Severus didn't miss the fact that Dumbledore hadn't answered his question. He hadn't expected anything else. Rather shaken by the decision, and unable to shed the nagging suspicion that there was something else behind it, he thought about it for a few minutes before deciding wearily that it didn't really matter. It was only for a year, and then everything would end. It was quite likely he wouldn't even live until the end of the year – the curse on the job wouldn't help, but his life was drawing to an end anyway. One way or another, he wasn't going to live to see the end of the war, no matter which side won. Once, this change of job would have made him happy, or at least as close to happy as he ever got, but now he didn't much care any more.

"I always did enjoy being someone's last resort," he said tiredly.

* * *

><p>Hermione discovered an unbelievable advantage to the odd situation a few days later; with only one underage person in the house, most of the Order had forgotten she was there, and were far less preoccupied with security. The kitchen door was still warded, but not the window, which was left open out of habit as much as anything. She promptly installed herself in the room directly overhead, opening that window wide and leaning out to listen, wishing vainly for one of the Extendable Ears. This meeting wasn't a full meeting, only a few members of the Order were present and they weren't likely to be discussing much, but anything she could learn might help.<p>

She listened intently, frustrated that she couldn't catch every word; they were discussing Sirius' death and the effect it was having on the rest of the Order. Dumbledore reported that Harry was coping as well as could be expected, which was to say, not very well at all; in a couple of weeks he would be collected and removed to the Burrow, where it was hoped that the presence of his friends would help him.

Personally, Hermione rather doubted it. Harry had changed since Voldemort's return and was no longer so reliant on those around him, pulling in on himself; she'd talked about it with Ron before. Neither of them really knew what to do about it, though. Dumbledore added quietly, "I intend to see that Mr Potter is kept occupied this year." Annoyingly, nobody questioned him on the specifics, so Hermione couldn't find out what the Headmaster had planned.

The talk moved on to Lupin, who was apparently very depressed over the loss of his best friend and was also not coping well. Frankly, Hermione had wondered about those two since... well, since the Shrieking Shack, actually, although she'd kept her speculation to herself. She nearly fell out of the window when Kingsley's deep voice revealed that Tonks had been pursuing Lupin for a while and commented that her Patronus had now changed form to reflect it, which generated a low murmur of interest. Bill – at least, she thought it sounded like Bill – added that Lupin had said no several times, the last time harshly enough that Tonks had fled to the Burrow to talk to Mrs Weasley about it; apparently Lupin hadn't said he wasn't interested, only that he didn't think she should get herself involved with a werewolf.

Now perched on the windowsill, Hermione rolled her eyes. She was only sixteen, but she'd seen enough of life to know that most men really were stupid. And if Lupin really thought that was going to discourage someone like Tonks for long, he was more oblivious than most.

Moody's rough voice stated the obvious, that such harshness was unlike Remus Lupin, and asked if anyone had any ideas of ways to help him recover from his depression. A familiar smooth voice said, directly below Hermione, "Well, I could add Calming Draught to his Wolfsbane if you like. It may well poison him, but it's a risk I'm willing to take," and she nearly overbalanced again; she hadn't realised Snape was there. _He really should wear a bell around his neck or something. _He hadn't been back to Headquarters recently, at least as far as she knew.

"That's hilarious," Professor McGonagall replied witheringly. "In case it slipped your mind, Severus, we need him."

"What for?" Snape asked contemptuously. "He's never going to be able to win the other werewolves over. I don't know why you're persisting with this farce."

"I know you don't have any faith in Remus, but..."

"It's not about faith, it's about werewolves," he replied irritably. "Don't any of you know anything about them? Lupin's not an alpha. They won't listen to him if he talks himself hoarse every day for a century. If you really want the werewolves on our side, you need to find an alpha male more dominant than Greyback who doesn't want to be a Death Eater and persuade him to get involved. Werewolves follow the strongest; they'll follow Greyback until someone beats him."

"How do you know so much about werewolves?" McGonagall asked after a short pause; Hermione remembered the lesson Snape had set in third year. He hadn't talked about their society and she hadn't been able to find out anything.

"Know your enemy," he said spitefully, earning a lot of angry muttering. "It's not just about the werewolves, anyway. Hagrid couldn't get the giants onside, and the goblins aren't listening to you, are they, Weasley? There is absolutely no point in approaching any of the other races and trying to persuade them to join our team."

"What makes you say that, Severus?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

"We're not in a position to offer them anything they want. We don't have the power to change the laws. If the Dark Lord wins, he'll be able to change anything he likes – he won't, he'll betray his allies, but they clearly don't believe that, since they're listening to him. If we win, the best we can offer is that we'll ask the Ministry nicely to get their heads out of their backsides, and that's not enough. We have nothing to bargain with. Why should any of the non-human races listen to us prattling about our concept of right and wrong? If the Dark Lord keeps faith with them, they will all be much better off if he wins, and they know it. You're wasting time and resources chasing moonbeams. I've been saying it from the start."

"Shut up, Snape," Moody growled at him, "unless you have anything useful to contribute for a change."

Hermione didn't think that was particularly fair. What he had said made sense; during her obsession with house elf rights, she had looked into the legislative issues concerning other races and there were no simple solutions – she was still very interested in it, but she didn't exactly have much time to pursue the issue at the moment. Certainly the Order weren't in a position to promise anything. And maybe if they had been less preoccupied with 'chasing moonbeams', they would have been able to protect more people, like her parents, instead of Snape having to take it on himself to do so. If that was what had happened, anyway; she still had no proof that it had all been his idea.

"Such as?" Snape asked dryly, and just from the tone of his voice she could picture the sardonic arch of one eyebrow and the mocking smirk curving his lips upwards at one side.

"Such as your master's next move, maybe." Moody couldn't do sarcasm anywhere near as well as Snape, she reflected, suppressing a small smile. Then again, nobody else she had ever met could do sarcasm as well as the Potions master.

"I have no idea," Snape replied calmly, "for the simple reason that nor does he, in my opinion. The failure at the Ministry was only a minor irritation, although one that he will severely punish Lucius and Bellatrix for; much as he would like to know the full prophecy, he is not unduly concerned yet, since he is still certain of victory. The true setback was Fudge showing up at the end; it suited him to have the Ministry and the wizarding world as a whole remain ignorant of his return until he saw fit to reveal it. That has seriously disrupted his plans and none of us know what he will do next."

"As useful as always, eh, Snape," Moody said scathingly.

"That will do, Alastor," Dumbledore said firmly.

"It's no more than the truth, Albus, and you know it."

"I must disagree. Severus' information has proved invaluable many times. In just the past couple of months his prompt action has helped reduce the severity of this injury to my hand that you have all been politely pretending not to stare at and his swift warning kept the casualties at the Ministry to a minimum."

"Yeah, and got one of his enemies killed," the old Auror growled. "Very convenient, that, wasn't it?"

"Aren't you bored of this game yet?" Snape asked coolly. "You sound like a broken record, Moody. Worse, you sound like Potter. Are you having a mid-life crisis? I cannot think of any other reason why a man of your age would be regressing to a whiny teenager again."

Up above them, Hermione bit her lip to suppress another smile. She didn't much like Moody; the real one was marginally less creepy than the impostor had been, but he was very aggressive and temperamental as well as excessively paranoid. And she had learned over the past five years that when Snape's sarcasm wasn't directed at her or her friends, he could actually be very funny, even if she had never dared say so.

"Potter's no fool, if the boy knows better than to trust you," Moody retorted. "You managed to get Black killed..."

"For the last time, Black got himself killed," Snape replied irritably, "charging headlong into danger without stopping to think. I wasn't even there."

"No, of course you weren't. You were hiding in your hole like the coward you are, waiting to see who'd come out on top, weren't you? You spineless little creep."

"How well you know me." Snape's voice had lowered; the only reason Hermione could still hear him was that he appeared to be sitting beside the open window. His silky tones were cold and dangerous and she could picture the way his black eyes would have hardened, beginning to glitter with anger.

"Bah," Moody said in disgust. "You sicken me. You're nothing but a craven slinking scavenger."

Hermione tried in vain to loosen her white-knuckled grip on the windowsill, swallowing bile as she remembered Snape bleeding and shaking on a hospital bed in the Infirmary, silently enduring the aftermath of whatever tortures had been visited on him this time, or standing motionless as Poppy helped clean up, his eyes haunted by what he had been forced to do. The man was a bastard, there was no denying that, but he certainly wasn't a coward.

"Do shut up, Mad-Eye," Snape said almost conversationally; the crisp enunciation of his words was the only hint at his increasing anger. "What, exactly, have you done to advance our _noble _cause recently, hmm? Terrorised or tortured any helpless prisoners lately? For someone always so outspoken against the Dark Arts, you Aurors never scruple to use them freely."

"Enough, Severus," McGonagall said firmly. "Are you a member of the Order, or not?"

"No, actually, I'm not," he replied coldly; he sounded completely detached and disinterested, but there was the very faintest edge of hardness in his voice that said clearly to Hermione that he was very angry now. If she could see his face, she was sure his black eyes would have been flashing with dark fire, and that muscle in his jaw might have started jumping, which always meant he was close to snapping – that and the vein pulsing in his temple were the two danger signs that made his more observant students want to run.

"What?"

"I'm not a member of the Order. I was never asked to join. I'm just a tool, to be used until I break and then discarded. I'm not one of you, and I never will be; that has been made very clear to me over the years."

This pronunciation was greeted with rather stunned silence. Hermione desperately wished that she could see their faces, both Snape's and the people he was confronting; she hadn't realised that either. But now that she thought of it... she'd seen the photo Moody carried around of the original Order, and Snape hadn't been in it. He only ever seemed to attend meetings if he was making a report, too, he never seemed to be part of any of the planning sessions...

"No," Moody said in an ugly tone, breaking the silence. "You're not one of us. You're just another Death Eater."

There was another long pause. Hermione wondered unhappily why Dumbledore wasn't saying anything in his spy's defence.

"Yes," Snape said finally, very quietly. "I am." A chair scraped on the floor as he presumably stood up. "And just think where you would all be if I weren't." The kitchen door slammed, followed by the front door, and Mrs Black's portrait started yelling.

There was a low murmur of voices from the kitchen, but Hermione couldn't hear them any more; they were speaking too quietly, and in any case she was too angry to listen further. If even Snape's allies treated him like scum... what chance did he have? Abruptly something crashed home in her head as she slid off the windowsill and closed the window, and she gasped softly in sudden realisation before hurrying to her bedroom to think; she was reasonably certain she had just unravelled most of the enigma that was Severus Snape.

* * *

><p>Around an hour later, she looked up and found Phineas Nigellus staring down at her from the frame on the wall. "You overheard the meeting, then?" she asked quietly.<p>

His lip curled. "Yes. I assure you, something similar happens almost every time."

She nodded bleakly. "I guessed as much. Does he ever seriously try to defend himself?"

"No, not really."

"I thought not."

"So, you've worked it out, then?" Phineas asked quietly.

She nodded again, looking grimly at the portrait. "Yes." Sighing, Hermione wished vainly for the comforting presence of her cat again. Hugging her knees, she watched Phineas, who was regarding her with his usual lack of expression. "I've been wondering about it for a while – since you showed me his rooms, in fact. Why he looks the way he does, why he lives the life he does. I didn't realise... it's all just because he hates himself that much, isn't it?"

"Yes," the portrait told her baldly.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Dilys does. Poppy suspects to some extent, but she doesn't _know. _Nobody else has a clue."

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

Phineas gave her a penetrating stare that was very Snape-like. "We could have done, but something like this needs to be understood fully. You had to realise it for yourself. I doubt you can fully put your new knowledge into words; it isn't something that can be explained, only felt."

She nodded slowly. "Is it why he joined the Death Eaters, too?"

"Partly, we think, but not completely. Understand, Miss Granger, we have never discussed this with him, nor even attempted to do so."

She nodded again and tucked her hair back behind her ears. "What are you supposed to do with people who feel like that?" she asked quietly. "What's the psychological treatment for self-loathing this intense?" She knew just enough about clinical depression to know that she didn't really know anything about it, and it was hardly something she could research at Hogwarts, given how frighteningly ignorant the wizarding world was when it came to mental health. She had planned to look into it this summer with her parents' help, but, well, that hadn't worked out.

Phineas shrugged. "Give him a reason not to despise himself; which is almost certainly impossible, in this instance. He doesn't want to live, Miss Granger, and you know it even if you don't want to admit it. His life means less than nothing to him. If things continue like this, he is likely to suicide after it's all over, should he by some miracle actually survive the end of the war. When Voldemort falls, Severus will no longer have a reason to keep himself alive."

"Is his life truly so empty?" Hermione asked very softly.

"Not empty, no – for someone as intelligent as he is, there are always things to fill the time – but... lonely, and meaningless. You have seen how the Order treat him, and how the Death Eaters treat him, and they are the closest thing to friends that he has. He has no family. His life gives him no real pleasure. I honestly believe, and Dilys agrees, that the only reason he has stayed alive as long as he has is to see Voldemort die if he can. It's all he lives for."

"Why?" she asked. "Why does he hate him so much?"

"I don't know all the reasons and I won't speculate with only half the story."

She nibbled on her lower lip thoughtfully. "Why does he hate himself so intensely? I can think of half a dozen small reasons, but none of them seem like enough, even combined."

The portrait sounded faintly annoyed. "Because, as far as we can tell, everyone in his life ever since he was a toddler has treated him as though he is worthless. Nobody has ever valued Severus for who he is, only broken him down and used him for what he can do, and almost everyone who has ever met him despised him. Anyone in that situation would grow up believing that they truly were worthless and despicable. And in addition, Severus has a conscience, and he knows that the things he has done in the past and must continue to do are terrible and wrong. Every day he is dragged in deeper, and he... cannot... escape. Most of his capacity for love has been destroyed, and what is left cannot be directed at himself."

Hermione sat and thought and bit her lip for a while. "Is there anything that anyone can do?" she asked finally, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Probably not," Phineas replied somewhat brutally. "We aren't certain of _anything _where this man is concerned, but we think it's probably too late to save him now."

She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "It shouldn't be like this. Bastard or not, he deserves so much better."

"Life isn't fair," the portrait said quietly. "That, too, is something Severus has learned very early on. You are an idealist, Miss Granger, but people seldom get what they deserve, whether good or bad. By all means, turn that infamous mind of yours on the problem and try to think of some way to persuade him to value his own life a little more highly and look after himself more, but be aware that it almost certainly won't work."

On that cheerful note, he departed, leaving Hermione to stare at nothing as the shadows lengthened, lost in thoughts of a man who hated himself so much that he made no effort to look after himself, who couldn't be bothered to heal his own injuries or repair his furniture or even keep his hair clean. All their hopes might depend on him. It was a rather grim vision of the future.

* * *

><p>Her worries subsided a little over the rest of the summer, which turned out to be pleasantly dull and quiet once she left to stay with the Weasleys – well, as quiet as things ever got at the Burrow, surrounded by half-mad young men, at least. She had told everyone the same story, even Harry and Ron; namely, that she had been the one to realise that her parents weren't safe, that she had somehow persuaded them to leave and gone to Headquarters. She didn't like lying to her friends, but telling the truth wasn't an option. They wouldn't believe her, for a start, and Snape would be furious and probably in danger if she did tell anyone.<p>

In between fretting over everything else, she had found time to worry about her OWL results, but she was happy enough to see the long list of Outstandings – marred by the single Exceeds Expectations. That was a shame, but Defence had never been her forte, and... well, you couldn't win them all. It was quite annoying that she hadn't been able to beat Snape's record, she told herself wryly, but she'd still done well enough to be happy. Given their sketchy, patchy education on the subject, it was a miracle any of them had passed. And if she kept telling herself that, she might actually believe it and stop being disappointed. But God, she wished she could share her grades with her parents...

Most of the rest of the summer was spent trying to keep Harry cheerful. She'd known him for years and he must absolutely not be left alone to brood – especially given what he had told her and Ron about the prophecy. After the initial conversation, Hermione firmly pushed that onto the list of other things she was trying not to think about; she still didn't trust Divination in the slightest and it might not mean what Harry clearly thought it meant. Better not to think about it yet, and try to keep him positive.

She might have found that a bit easier without Fleur Delacour flouncing around the Burrow stirring up everyone's hormones, but even that proved to be quite diverting; she spent a fair amount of time holed up with Ginny, shamelessly bitching and laughing at Ron, which was certainly a lot more fun than being dragged forcibly into playing Quidditch. Nothing on this earth would ever persuade her to like flying; the actual sport was somewhat irrelevant.

Snape hadn't been back to Headquarters since that meeting she had eavesdropped on. Hermione was worried about him to some extent, but if anything had happened to him the Order would have reacted even if it didn't seem likely that anyone would grieve much, and she knew he could look after himself. He probably shouldn't, but given the reception he usually got here, she could understand why he was staying well clear. Even if he did show up here badly injured, he would never concede to being treated so publicly.

Overall, she managed to mostly forget about the war, at least until they went to Diagon Alley to get their school supplies and saw for themselves the empty shops and the frightened people. That troubled her enough to dull the impact of seeing Fred and George's shop, although not quite enough to prevent her being irrationally tempted by some of their products; it took every scrap of willpower she had not to buy anything, but she might need every coin she possessed someday soon.

Draco Malfoy being up to no good left her largely unmoved; he always acted suspiciously about something, and usually there was nothing to it. Harry's paranoia on the subject was more worrying. Hermione very much doubted that Malfoy was a Death Eater, not at his age – what would You-Know-Who want with a teenage boy? What could Draco do that his other followers couldn't? – but even if by some bizarre twist he was, Snape would know and would have told Dumbledore, and she was happy to let them deal with it. Not that she was stupid enough to say that to Harry; she settled for doing her best to distract him, and added it to her list of things not to think about just yet.

* * *

><p>Hermione's summer might have been mostly pleasantly unexciting, but Severus couldn't say the same. He was horribly busy, dividing his time between Death Eater meetings, Order meetings, visiting the Malfoys and trying to talk to Draco, dealing with his own personal projects such as brewing Lupin's bloody Wolfsbane – the blasted werewolf never had tried to learn how to do it for himself – and attempting to put together a full new curriculum for seven classes who had very little background in Defence at all and who all needed to be taught decades of survival experience in eight or nine months. There weren't enough hours in the day; sleep had become an almost unattainable luxury, and yet he was still finding plenty of time to worry himself sick.<p>

The more he thought about Dumbledore's plan, the less he liked it. Some of the facts were unavoidable – the old man was dying, and it did make sense for Severus to be the one to do it in the end. But he was growing increasingly certain that the Headmaster didn't plan to tell anyone else what was going on, and that frightened him, because what was going to happen after he'd done it? He'd kill Dumbledore, and as far as the world was concerned there would have been no reason for it. If his sanity survived yet another murder, one more personal than any he had committed before, he would lose everything – his fragile status on the edge of the Order, the grudging companionship and respect of his colleagues, what little standing he had among the students (even his Slytherins wouldn't forgive him for that one, and never mind that they didn't like Dumbledore). Even Poppy and the portraits would turn on him – and Granger, damnit, although he was trying hard not to think about her.

He couldn't handle a loss on that large a scale. He was used to struggling alone through most of the shit in his life, but he could not survive losing absolutely everything like that. And what was he supposed to do afterwards? Dumbledore had told him to protect the students, but how could he hope to do that under those circumstances, with every man's hand and wand raised against him? Who was going to protect _him_? No. It wasn't going to work.

Another possibility occurred to him around the middle of August, and he promptly started researching poisons. It didn't have to be seen as murder. If he could make the old man's death look like natural causes, then perhaps he could continue to walk the terribly fragile razor's edge between the two sides for a little while longer. If he could manage to convince Voldemort that he was responsible while convincing the Order that it had nothing to do with him, maybe he could persuade them to go along with it. The Dark Lord would make him Headmaster when they took over the school; if the other teachers were still on his side, it might be possible to do what he was supposed to do. He couldn't see any other way.

Of course, he reminded himself painfully while crawling home one night – literally crawling; he was in too much pain to stand, and he had a feeling his leg might be broken anyway – it was quite likely that he wouldn't live long enough for it to become an issue. He didn't think Draco had the balls to kill anyone, so once Severus was dead either the curse would finish Dumbledore off or the old man would have to kill himself. Either way, the plan would fall apart, but it wouldn't be Severus' fault. The odds were very high that he was going to be dead before the end of the year. Relatively few of the many Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers had actually died, but fatalities had happened, and those men and women had led far less dangerous lives.

The summer dragged on torturously slowly despite all the work he had to do. Alone once more in his depressing empty house, he concentrated on keeping himself alive, scared and overworked and stressed out and burning with helpless, pointless, frightened anger about it all. Whatever happened, he was screwed, and he was getting more than a little tired of that.

* * *

><p>Hermione felt that the year was not off to an auspicious start. It wasn't exactly the first time Harry had been in trouble before the start-of-year feast had even begun, admittedly, but it still didn't seem like a good omen when a bored-looking Snape escorted a sullen-looking and rather worryingly bloody Harry into the Great Hall shortly before dessert was served. She kept mostly silent throughout his explanation of what had happened, largely to ignore the small treacherous part of her that suggested it did rather serve her friend right for trying to spy on Malfoy. Whether he was actually a Death Eater or not, Draco had hated Harry since first year and would hardly have passed up the chance to hurt him.<p>

Seeing Dumbledore's blackened and withered hand was a nasty shock, too; Harry had failed to mention that, and it was sufficiently gruesome and worrying to hold her attention throughout the first part of the Headmaster's speech before she finally tuned back in.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year," Dumbledore told them, and she regarded the new teacher curiously as he stood up. "Professor Slughorn is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?" Hermione repeated dazedly, echoed by about half the school by the sound of it as she twisted to stare at Harry. "But you said..."

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore said more loudly, drawing her attention back to the staff table, "will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!" Harry shouted, rather rudely. He wasn't the only one, either; cries of shock bordering on dismay had sounded from three of the four House tables, and even among the Slytherins only a handful of students were applauding.

Hermione stared at her teacher, somewhat stunned by this unexpected announcement. He hadn't stood up, merely lifted a hand to silence his Slytherins, and despite his sardonic smirk she didn't think he actually looked all that pleased. The expression looked false, and seemed to be more bitter amusement over the reaction to the announcement rather than a response to the announcement itself. If anything, he just looked tired, although she supposed not many people would have known his features well enough to spot it.

"But, Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!" she told her friend accusingly.

"I thought he was!" he protested, sounding almost offended by this turn of events as shocked conversations sprang up all across the hall. "Well, there's one good thing," he added in an ugly tone. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked. Even he looked a little taken aback by Harry's vehemence.

"That job's jinxed," Harry said in a tone of dark satisfaction. "Quirrell actually died doing it. Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death..."

"_Harry!_" Hermione snapped at him, truly shocked. She hadn't told even her best friends what Snape had done over the summer to protect her family; it was safer that way, and she also knew they wouldn't have understood, not that she fully understood it herself. She knew Harry hated Snape every bit as much as Snape seemed to hate him, and somewhat unfairly blamed him for Sirius' death, but saying something like that was utterly inexcusable.

* * *

><p>The next morning she made her way rather hesitantly down to the dungeons, unsure whether he would be expecting her so early in the term. She didn't even know if he was still living down here, now he wasn't teaching Potions any more – that still felt strange; Snape was the Potions master, that was how the world was supposed to work – and neither Dilys nor Phineas had visited the picture frame above her bed last night, so she hadn't been able to ask them.<p>

He was waiting at the mouth of the passageway as usual, and the grainy predawn shadows didn't provide enough light for her to tell whether he was surprised to see her or not, especially since he clearly hadn't learned to be a morning person over the summer and looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Recalling rather awkwardly that she hadn't spoken to him since the night she'd asked him to stay in her room until she fell asleep, Hermione cleared her throat hesitantly.

"Good morning, sir."He responded with a grunt that might have meant anything and led the way outside; at least it wasn't raining, she noted with some relief as she began to stretch carefully. Glancing up at him, she asked quietly, "Defence, sir?"

"So it would seem," he replied in his usual gravelly early-morning voice, wincing slightly as one of his joints cracked audibly. He gave her a sarcastic smile. "The announcement was very well received, was it not? Such friendly, welcoming enthusiasm really warms the heart."

Ignoring that, she asked, "Why didn't you tell me, sir?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Miss Granger, contrary to your expectations, you do not need to know everything about my life," he told her, his tone milder than his words. "Besides, I didn't know myself until sometime in early August. It was all rather last-minute."

Studying him for a moment, she noted that he still didn't look happy. Then again, he seldom looked anything at all this early in the morning except tired, so there was no point trying to read too much into it. "Your predecessors all seem to have ended their careers rather, um, dramatically, sir," she said cautiously, trying not to think about what Harry had said.

Snape gave her a sharp look. "Did you come here to chatter at me and state the obvious, or to run?" he asked crisply, the effect somewhat ruined by his trying not to yawn mid-sentence. Taking the hint, she shut up.

By the time they had made it around the circuit and were warming down, she could barely breathe, and he chuckled nastily. "Dear me, someone is out of practice."

"I ran every day at home," she protested breathlessly, glaring at him. "But I couldn't leave Headquarters, and when I was at the Burrow... well, everyone there believes any form of exercise that doesn't involve a broomstick to be a mortal sin," she added mischievously.

His eyes glittered for a moment as he snorted. "Touché."

"I have Defence before lunch," she said quietly, watching him curiously.

Snape sneered at her, probably more out of habit than anything else. "Thank you for enlightening me, since obviously I do not know my own timetable despite having spent an entire day last week in a staff meeting arranging it."

"Yes, sir," she replied dryly, trying not to smile. When there was no malice behind it, she quite liked his sarcasm, at least some of the time. "What do you have planned, sir?"

"As if I would tell you, Miss Granger," he replied dismissively, before smirking. "It won't be Cornish pixies, I'll tell you that much. I will not be courting trouble by inviting anyone to write poetry about me – I dread to think of what would be handed in – nor will I be requiring anyone to read my autobiography. I don't care if you know my favourite colour or not."

_I shouldn't think you have one. You don't seem to like colour at all. _Keeping the retort to herself, and ignoring the jibe about Lockhart, she continued calmly, "And I have Potions this afternoon. What's Professor Slughorn like, sir?"

He snorted, smirking again, and now there _was _a hint of malice in his glittering black eyes. "You'll see. His attitude is rather different from my own... although doubtless that should be seen as a positive thing."

"Was he your teacher, sir?"

"He was, yes."

"Were you part of his... club?"

Snape raised both eyebrows. "He's started recruiting already? He hasn't wasted any time, then. Interesting. And to answer your question, Miss Granger... it is, as ever, none of your business. Now be on your way."

* * *

><p><em>Just a reminder, folks, if you have private messaging disabled I can't answer your review. Onwards we go...<br>_


	16. Chapter 16

_Fierce competition for the 1000th review... it was very close, literally seconds in it, but I have to go by the order that the reviews arrive in my inbox, and the winner was **frusie. **_

_Now, let's wander around the edges of canon for a while, shall we?  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils."<strong>  
>– Louis Hector Berlioz.<p>

* * *

><p>The first Defence lesson could have gone better, Hermione concluded afterwards rather wryly. Considering it had been Harry's first lesson in any subject of the new school year, it didn't bode well that he had already landed a detention. Despite the way he complained, he had deserved it, both for his rudeness and for – technically – attacking the teacher; even Hermione admitted freely that Snape had obviously been <em>about to <em>hex Harry, but he hadn't actually done it yet. Harry had struck first, and frankly he had been lucky to just get a detention for it; by Snape's usual standards, a single detention for such an offense had been startlingly lenient.

Overlooking her friend's natural talent for causing trouble, though, she thought the lesson could also have been a lot worse. Snape had been rather more sarcastic to her than usual, but he hadn't actually insulted her and she didn't take offence at it. She was also thrilled to have successfully performed a non-verbal Shield Charm for the first time; Snape had ignored it, naturally, but she hadn't expected anything else, and the faintest glitter in his eyes as he had walked past that proved he had noticed it was enough for her to feel proud of herself.

It was a tremendous relief to discover that for once they seemed to have a Defence teacher who knew what he was talking about and intended to teach them something useful. Quirrell had been a nervous wreck who had taught them a couple of bits of theory that were worth knowing and a lot about vampires that they were highly unlikely to ever encounter. Lockhart... well, looking back now, she could admit that he'd been a moron, and she felt ashamed of herself that her first crush had been such an unworthy target. Lupin had been smart and had known his subject, but really, learning about Japanese water demons wasn't going to do them a lot of good unless they planned to go to Japan and skulk around in lakes. Moody – well, Crouch – had also known his subject, but she wasn't inclined to trust anything he had taught them. And the less said about Umbridge, the better. It seemed as though Snape, uniquely among their teachers so far, was actually going to teach them to defend themselves.

Hitherto all her decent Defence knowledge had come from Harry and from books; having a competent teacher was definitely going to help her feel a bit better about things. Besides, what she had told her friend was true; if you looked past the superficial impression created by Snape's words, the two of them had been saying basically the same thing – that knowledge wasn't going to help in the long run unless you knew how to use it and that you couldn't always rely on magical skill to get you through. She was looking forward to the next lesson – provided that she could persuade Harry to keep his mouth shut.

* * *

><p>She approached her first Potions lesson after lunch with just as much curiosity. She had gained the vague impression that Snape didn't like Slughorn very much, but since in her experience Snape didn't like any of the other teachers very much that didn't tell her anything about their new Potions teacher. During the early part of the lesson she decided that Slughorn certainly knew his subject and that he was going to be rather easier to work for than Snape had been, but despite that she didn't think she liked the change; perversely, she almost missed Snape's presence. It seemed wrong to be in a Potions lesson where people were chatting to one another as they worked.<p>

Hermione understood what Snape had meant when he had said that their attitudes were different, too. As soon as he had heard her name, the new Potions teacher had asked about her ancestry; once her happiness over hearing the compliment Harry had given her had faded, she had found the question somewhat offensive, remembering what her friend had told her of the meeting on the train and of his conversation with Slughorn before term had started. Obviously their new teacher was interested in students with potential to do him favours later, and almost blatant in his selfishness about it, which she didn't like.

Despite that flaw, though, he was apparently a good teacher, she mused as she continued to study the method for brewing the Draught of Living Death. His style was very different from Snape's, but once she had got used to it she was confident of enjoying Potions as much this year as she had in previous years – in fact, she admitted to herself honestly, probably more. It would be nice to actually be praised for knowing what she was doing for once. She had gained more points for Gryffindor in this one lesson than she had earned in Potions in the last five years.

Her concentration was broken for what seemed like the dozenth time by Harry muttering nastily not quite under his breath about his textbook, and she gave him an impatient look. "Harry, you're my best friend, but if you don't shut up, I am going to have to stab you with a lionfish spine."

Ron snickered, bent over his own potion, which didn't seem to be going very well. Harry gave her an exasperated look. "It's not my fault. I can't read half of this. Look at it," he added helplessly, waving the battered book Slughorn had given him around.

Hermione looked at the page and conceded that it really was a bit of a mess. "Fair enough, I suppose. Is the whole book like that?"

"It's worse," he said in disgust. "Look. On some of the pages pretty much all the print has been scribbled over, and it's such horrible handwriting I can't read most of it. How am I supposed to do any of these potions? It was bad enough trying to read Snape's scrawl on the blackboards with my glasses fogging up half the time, but this is impossible."

"Oh, give it here, then," she sighed, pushing her own textbook over to him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, snapping out of complaining mode instantly and looking guilty.

"I've got better eyesight than you do," she pointed out gently, adding tartly, "Especially if you don't use the Impervious charm I taught you to stop your glasses fogging up."

"Um. Oops?" he offered sheepishly as Ron snickered again.

"Shut up and get on with your potion, Harry," she recommended, bending over the textbook and peering at the tiny, spiky scribbles. The method had been quite heavily amended, she noticed doubtfully, and without explanation of any of the changes. Already half way through her potion, she resolved to ignore the additional instructions and turned her attention to her Sopophorous Bean. Struggling to cut through the stupid thing, she looked back at the book and noticed the scribble at that step suggesting that crushing the bean released the juice better; that made sense, she supposed, and wouldn't do any harm even if it didn't work.

That instruction proved to be right, but she wasn't brave enough to follow the scribbled advice about changing the stirring rhythm. If the former owner of the book had made a mistake, an alteration like that could well cause the whole thing to blow up. Tips that made sense were one thing, but suggestions that had no explanation were too risky to attempt unless she knew what was likely to happen.

She didn't need it, anyway; her potion wasn't quite perfect – she reminded herself sternly that it was much more advanced than last year's work had been and she hadn't brewed anything for a couple of months – but it was still the best in the class. That was good, since she'd had her own reasons for wanting to win the prize; pocketing the golden potion for later, she began to clear up, feeling quite cheerful. Idly she flicked through a few pages of the book; it wasn't going to be easy to work with it until she could get another one, but with so many notes, some of them – like the tip about the Sopophorous Bean – might prove useful.

Curiously, she turned to the inside of the front cover, wondering who had mangled a textbook so badly, and looked at the scribbled legend. _This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince._

Something went 'click'almost audibly in her brain and she blinked, confused for a moment. This writing was bigger, not so squashed and cramped but still a little spiky and narrow and... oddly familiar. "Half-Blood Prince," she murmured under her breath, puzzled, before it clicked again and she bit her lip to stifle a gasp, picturing a page in an Infirmary record that she had seen last year. _Next of Kin: Tobias Snape, Muggle; Eileen Prince Snape, pureblood._

"Half-blood," she repeated softly to herself. "Prince." Staring down at the book again, she flicked through the pages, studying the writing more closely. Yes... it could well have developed into the much more familiar handwriting she had seen on essays for years. Maybe she was wrong, but she didn't think so. If this really was Snape's old textbook... well, for a start, it made her wish she'd followed the advice about adding extra stirs.

Hastily shutting the book, she shrank it and tucked it safely into a pocket, rather than simply tossing it in her bag; this was too important to risk it getting lost. Making a mental note to start reading it later, she packed the rest of her things and hurried out to catch up with her friends.

"Harry, wait a moment," she called, catching his elbow and tugging him back.

"What's up, 'Mione?" he asked quizzically.

"I want you to have this," she told him quietly, holding out the small vial of Felix Felicis to him.

"Hermione, no, I can't take it," Harry protested. "You won it fair and square."

She gave her friend an exasperated look. "Harry, you're much more likely to need good luck than I am. Call it an early Christmas present if it makes you feel better; just take it."

"No."

"All right, I'll tell you what. If you take it without arguing, I won't ask you why you had such a soppy look on your face when you were sniffing the Amortentia earlier."

He went red. "That's not fair. You looked pretty soppy yourself, you know."

"Probably," she agreed airily; it had smelled lovely, after all, even if she hadn't puzzled out all the scents yet. "But, you see, Harry, you have no chance of getting an explanation out of me, whereas we both know that if I try I can get the truth out of you quite easily." Especially since she was reasonably sure that she already knew the answer.

"This is blackmail," he protested.

"Blackmail is an ugly word. Now will you take the potion, or not?"

Harry sighed. "Fine, you win again. Bully."

"Yep," she agreed cheerfully, handing him the tiny vial.

* * *

><p>Severus quietly let himself into the Potions classroom after dinner, looking around and curling his lip in disgust as he studied the changes Slughorn had made. It had only been a week, but already this wasn't his room any more, which actually caused a faint pang somewhere; regardless of how he felt about his job, he'd been teaching Potions for well over a decade and the various classrooms, labs and store rooms had been his territory. Now even the atmosphere had changed, and he didn't much like it. Then again, he had never liked any sort of change.<p>

It was also very weird being Horace Slughorn's colleague instead of his student, too. He had never really got on with his Head of House; Slughorn wanted an easy life, and that wasn't really possible when one student ended up in trouble at least once a week. Besides, despite his undeniable talent in Potions, Severus had been a half-blood from a poor family and at the time had possessed all the charisma of something that lived under a damp rock; he was therefore unlikely to achieve anything that would help Slughorn later, so he had largely been ignored. Even looking past all that, though, Severus was a little surprised to find that he actually resented someone else taking over the job he'd been honing for years, even though he had never liked that job; still, he did have a possessive streak, and there were so few things he could legitimately call his that maybe it was understandable.

Shaking his head, he put it to the back of his mind and returned to what he was supposed to be doing, crossing the room to the cauldrons lined up along one bench. Slughorn always liked to put on a show for the first lesson of each year; it was hard to throw stones, given his own occasional indulgence in the theatrical, but still, it wasn't too much to ask to expect the new Potions teacher to brew his own damned potions, given that Severus had so little free time and no longer had unlimited access to all the school stores. He had to admit he had quite enjoyed it, though. It had been a long time since he had brewed anything just for fun, and some of these potions were good fun to brew, challenging without being dangerous or vitally important.

The first cauldron was the Veritaserum, which he had actually had in stock anyway since it was part of one of his Ministry contracts. Unofficially, Severus brewed for a couple of different departments of the Ministry, as well as for St Mungo's and one or two international clients. He was glad of it at the moment, since he was rapidly running out of funds, what with one thing and another. Whistling tunelessly between his crooked teeth, he checked for contamination before deftly decanting the Veritaserum into the neatly labelled flasks he had brought with him and paused for a moment, eyeing it. Maybe he should render it inert before he sent it. The Death Eaters were getting closer to seriously infiltrating the Ministry, and it probably wouldn't be too many months before they managed it; he didn't want to give them any weapons.

After a few minutes' thought, he shook his head. It wasn't up to him to make that decision. He had done so with Umbridge because he knew for certain what she had wanted it for, but he had no such certainty here. Besides, Veritaserum really wasn't very effective; there were quite a few ways of blocking it or getting around it, and his natural Occlumency was only one of them. He stacked the flasks carefully in the small crate, shrank it and put it in his pocket; later tonight he'd address it and send it.

The next potion was Polyjuice, which he regarded with a certain wry amusement for a moment, recalling almost fondly the night he'd been called to the hospital wing and been confronted with Hermione Granger impersonating Catwoman. He hadn't laughed so hard in years; Poppy had almost strangled him by the time he'd managed to get himself under control. It was still one of his best memories, although somewhat tainted now by the more recent memory of using it to start their very weird Occlumency 'duel' last year. Even that wasn't exactly a bad memory, though; he had been grudgingly impressed with the way she had fought back. Shaking his head wryly, he decanted the Polyjuice into flasks as well; there was always a market for such things somewhere and it would be a welcome addition to his now very strained finances. If he didn't sell it, Slughorn would, and the older wizard wasn't constantly tithing to Voldemort.

Severus turned his attention to the Felix Felicis – minus a single dose – and regarded it rather sourly; he didn't have much faith in its effects, frankly, or he'd have been swigging it morning, noon and night. He could certainly do with some luck. This potion was tightly controlled, and he knew he ought to render it useless and then Vanish it. But... well, you never knew. It might prove useful. He doubted luck alone would get any of them through what lay ahead, but it certainly couldn't hurt. There might be a time when it would be needed – probably not by him, though, luck wasn't going to do him much good now; it was far too late for luck alone to save him... but Potter and the others might need it someday. It wouldn't do any harm to keep it. Carefully decanting the bright gold liquid into a reinforced unbreakable bottle, he sealed it with equal care and tucked it into an inside pocket.

That just left the Amortentia; Severus gave the cauldron an annoyed look. He had removed it from the syllabus as soon as he became a teacher; there was absolutely no reason to justify teaching the students about it, except that it looked and smelled pretty. It was highly illegal, and so were most of the ingredients, and children – particularly hormonal teenagers – had no business knowing it even existed, but it had always been one of Slughorn's favourites.

Frankly, Severus objected to the whole concept of love potions on principle. He doubted anyone would consider him an authority on the matter, but he did know quite a bit about love, at least in the abstract, and he had a very clear idea of what it was, and it could not be artificially created or induced. Even Amortentia, powerful as it was, wasn't a love potion; it created infatuation and lust by playing on existing loves, nothing more, and it wasn't infallible. Besides, he always found the smell of it rather sad, possibly because most of the scents represented things far out of his reach.

Giving in to temptation, and hating himself for it, he leaned over the cauldron and took a slow, deep breath. There had been a lot of extremely unfunny and usually openly malicious jokes made about his nose over the years, but he actually did have a keen and well developed sense of smell, which was an asset in his work even if it did nothing for his appearance. In this case, however, it wasn't a blessing; his senses reeled under the onslaught, and the first breath almost choked him before he was able to register the actual scent.

Once, the predominant smell had been some kind of designer perfume, some seventies brand that almost certainly didn't exist any more. Somehow, Severus wasn't really surprised to note its absence now; instead the first scent that hit the receptors in his brain was something far more subtle, a fresh, sweet note that reminded him of apricots. It was a scent he had presumably been subconsciously aware of for years, without ever consciously recognising its source. Under the apricots were even fainter, more subtle notes; bay leaves and flowers. If he could have managed to synthesise it, he probably would have made a fortune, but it wasn't a single scent, just a combination of skin and hair and various soaps and lotions.

He exhaled slowly and shook his head, more resigned than anything else; it wasn't as if he hadn't expected it. Almost as an afterthought, he noticed that the deeper notes underneath that dominant scent were still the same; parchment and old books, the complex herbal smoky fumes of any half decent Potions lab, the crisp fresh smells of snow and winter air and salt breezes, the scent of woodsmoke and melting scented candle wax.

Feeling seriously annoyed with himself, he drew back and took a bottle out of his pocket, pouring a measure steadily into the cauldron and critically watching the colour change, taking care to stand out of the way of the fumes now – these ones wouldn't smell so nice. Once he was satisfied that the potion was thoroughly ruined beyond rescue, he drew his wand and Vanished it, before rather childishly electing to leave all the dirty cauldrons piled up in one of the sinks for Slughorn to deal with. It offended some inner part of his soul to leave equipment in that state, but not as much as it would have done to stand around cleaning up after his former teacher as though he was serving detention again. Besides, he was in a bad mood now and wanted to spread it around. Gathering his potions, both legal and illegal, he stalked out of the classroom that was no longer his and left.

* * *

><p>All three of them were somewhat surprised to find <em>See me <em>written on the corner of their first piece of Defence homework when it was handed back to them a few days after Harry's first mysterious meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Cautiously approaching Snape's desk at the end of the lesson, it was Hermione who cleared her throat and said uneasily, "You wanted to see us, sir?" while Harry and Ron unashamedly hid behind her, as much as possible.

He was looking at them with his eyes at their most unreadable, his expression utterly blank even by his usual standards. "Come to the Room of Requirement tonight after dinner, all three of you," he said flatly.

"Sir?"

"You heard. Be off with you or you'll be late to your next lesson."

"What was that about?" Ron whispered as they left the classroom.

"Dunno," Harry replied. "I guess maybe he's giving us lessons, like Dumbledore's doing with me?" He grimaced. "I hope not."

"Well, we'll find out tonight," Hermione said briskly. "Right now, I've got an Arithmancy lesson to get to. I'll see you later." She had no idea what Snape was up to either, which was annoying. He'd seemed the same as ever this morning.

The Room of Requirement let the three of them in after dinner and they found it almost empty. Snape stood beside a small table with his arms folded across his chest, watching them expressionlessly, and there were three chairs in front of him, but that was all. Settling into their seats, they looked at him expectantly.

"What is this about, sir?" Hermione asked.

"Training, of a sort," Snape replied quietly. "The Headmaster intended private Defence lessons, I believe, since you three are the most likely to get into trouble, but I have more or less talked him out of that. Mostly because I simply don't have the time, but also because I don't think it will help you. I won't have time for these sessions very often, but when I do, I expect you to attend and I expect you to listen. I trust you have learned what happens when you don't by now," he added with a certain amount of spite in his voice, although he didn't look at Harry. "I will be setting each of you tasks sometimes, and I expect you to complete them promptly and to the best of your ability."

"Is this a formal class, _sir_?" Harry asked, apparently not liking the indirect reference to his failure to master Occlumency.

Snape's lip curled. "No. I won't be taking House points or giving detentions if you fail to do something I ask. _However,_" he added more sharply as Harry and Ron exchanged grins, "that also means I don't have to behave as a teacher. I can quite easily get away with giving you a thick ear if you don't listen. Bear that in mind and try not to annoy me any more than you usually do. Apart from anything else, I am going to be teaching you things that may help to keep you alive, and you would do well to listen.

"I am here to teach you several different things," Snape said after a pause, looking from one to the other. "One of those things will have to be fighting. No doubt you would perceive that as the most important thing I must teach you, but in fact it is the least of your lessons. You already know much about fighting, in theory, but playing with your friends does not prepare you for real combat, so I will be teaching you that. This is not a _Duelling Club –_" The sneer in his voice made them all grin. " _– _and nor is it a Defence lesson. There are no rules here. You will be fighting, really fighting, both with and without magic; primarily against me, when I have time, but also against one another. All three of you will get hurt. Possibly, if you are lucky enough or good enough, so will I. I will not allow Healing unless the wound is either truly serious, or too visible to explain away. Pain is often the best way to awaken your instincts. However, that won't be for a while yet."

He turned to the table and picked up three pencils and three scraps of parchment, as the three of them exchanged uneasy glances. Hermione wasn't worried about herself – whatever Snape said, she found it hard to believe he would truly hurt her. She didn't think he cared about Ron one way or the other. But against Harry... Well, Snape had already been on the verge of jinxing him in their first Defence lesson only a few days ago. _Oh dear._

Snape spoke again as he handed them each a pencil and a piece of parchment. "I want to see how well you know yourselves and one another," he said quietly. "From what I understand, the overall plan is mainly concerned with Potter, and Potter alone, but it is no coincidence that all three of you have been involved in this right from the start and all three of you will have important roles to play. It is vital that you each know yourselves individually, that you know exactly what each of you is capable of. This exercise will tell me what you know already; I wish you to write down your greatest strength and your biggest flaw, and that of your two friends. To test your powers of observation, I also wish you to do the same for me," he added, looking almost amused. "And be honest. On this occasion I will not punish you for it."

That wasn't terribly reassuring, Hermione mused as she stared at the paper in front of her and thought hard. The flaws were easy, hers and Harry's and Ron's, and even Snape's, but their strengths were much more difficult to pin down. She managed Snape's first, and then Harry. Ron took a while, and she really had no idea what to put for her own.

Finally Snape collected the scraps of parchment from them and studied what they had written, raising one eyebrow and smiling rather mirthlessly at the results. "Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully. "As I thought. You know one another fairly well, but you do not really know yourselves – or me, mostly," he added as an afterthought. "Nonetheless, I agree with most of your choices. Weasley, let us begin with you."

Ron swallowed and looked uneasy, which earned him a withering look. "Your friends unanimously declared that your greatest flaw is your emotions, and I agree with them. You overreact too easily, you take everything too personally and concern yourself too much with your hurt feelings." There was no malice in Snape's voice, somewhat surprisingly; he wasn't trying to be insulting for once, merely stating facts. "It leads you to turn on your friends for the stupidest of reasons and you find it nearly impossible to acknowledge that you are in the wrong, even to yourself."

Snape moved to stand directly in front of Ron, and then backed up a couple of paces so that he wasn't looming over him, his voice quieter now. "There is no shame in being second, Mr Weasley. This war has its front runners already – Potter, the Headmaster, the Dark Lord. The rest of us will always be in the background; it is pointless to wish for that to change and there is no glory to be found in this war for anyone. It does not mean that we aren't important. I will speak with you more about this later."

He glanced down at the paper again. "They were less certain of your strength, I notice." Ron flushed to the tips of his ears, and Snape glared at him. "What did I _just _say, Weasley? That is not an insult. They each chose strengths; they simply could not identify the most important. If you wish to have a tantrum like a child, I will spank you like a child." It was clear that he meant it, and Ron subsided again, looking rather embarrassed.

"Someone's greatest strength is largely dependent on context, of course," Snape continued, turning away and beginning to pace slowly back and forth, the way he did in lessons when he was lecturing. "In this particular situation we are focused on the war, and I believe you have two strengths that will serve us best. One, I will speak to you of in private. The other..." He paused and almost smiled. "Your skill at chess."

All three of them stared at him blankly. He looked back at them with one eyebrow raised, apparently enjoying their confusion, before he elaborated. "More specifically, your grasp of strategy. Professor McGonagall's choice of a chess game in your first year was not a coincidence or simply a pretty metaphor. Chess is about seeking advantages, finding weaknesses in your opponent's defence, long-range planning and prioritising. About choosing sacrifices. So is war."

He shifted his weight, returning his gaze to the redhead. "So, Mr Weasley, I have two assignments for you this time. The first is that you try to refrain from indulging your hurt feelings during every petty squabble; I expect your friends to tell you when you are doing so, and I expect you to listen to them. The second..." He almost smiled again. "The second is for you to start playing chess against as many people as possible, preferably people who are better than you. Some of the staff play and will be willing to indulge you. You learn nothing by only playing against your friends, especially when you know you can beat them. I play, myself; before you leave today we will arrange a time to meet and play."

He turned his attention to Hermione, and she tried not to squirm under the weight of that measuring black-eyed stare, feeling acutely self-conscious as she wondered a little wildly what her friends had said – and, more importantly, what Snape thought of her. "Miss Granger, your friends know you very well indeed," he said softly, almost smiling once more. "Your greatest strength is your intelligence."

Before she could stop herself, she laughed hollowly at him. "I find it hard to accept that you believe that, sir," she said a little bitterly. "I've lost count of the times you've called me a know-it-all."

Snape chuckled softly, arching an eyebrow as they looked at him. "Who said I meant it as an insult?"

She stared at him, stunned into silence by the sheer cheek of what he had just said; they all knew damned well that he absolutely _had _meant it as an insult. His dark eyes glittered with unmistakeably mocking laughter as he changed the subject. "As to your greatest flaw, once again, your friends were right on target, although they found it difficult to put it into words – neither of them number eloquence among their strengths. You lack confidence in yourself and your abilities, Miss Granger, and quite simply do not realise that you are capable of far more than you think. To that end..." He huffed in quiet amusement. "I have put Dilys in charge of you. I do not know what she has planned, and I am quite sure that I do not want to know; she will contact you in her own time. And finally, that brings us to you, Mr Potter."

He paced slowly over to stand in front of Harry, tilting his head slightly to one side as the two of them looked at each other, still very much old enemies despite their current rather fragile alliance. Snape's eyes were utterly unreadable now and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking; Harry looked nervous and defiant, which wasn't a good combination at the best of times and certainly not when facing down Snape, who had no patience with either nerves or defiance.

"They say your greatest strength is your bravery," Snape said softly. "Perhaps it is. Certainly in the context of the war it is likely to prove so... although a little common sense to balance it might help. But your greatest weakness, Potter? That is not so easy to decide, is it? There are, after all, quite a few to choose from. Your friends disagreed here; one got it right, and one did not. One agreed with you, and one did not. Yet between the three of you, you picked out the two great flaws. One, I will discuss at a later date; you are not ready to understand it yet. So we shall move to your most _immediate _weakness, which is your temper."

Hermione blinked; that wasn't what she had picked. That meant that Snape thought she was right, but felt that this was the more urgent problem – which, to be fair, it was. She had considered saying his temper for a while, but he had asked for the greatest flaw, not just the one that cropped up most often.

"Yes, Potter, your temper," Snape continued softly. "You are recklessly impulsive, and that is tied to your anger. You lash out – at your friends, at your enemies, even on occasion at your teachers, which is extremely unwise. You act without thinking, and when people are hurt as a result you seek to place the blame elsewhere. You act very much the poor misunderstood teenager; nobody else can possibly understand your pain, you suffer more than anyone else around you, _it's not fair. _You rage at those who are trying to help you, and often you do not realise the damage you do. I have been watching the three of you for years and I doubt any of you fully realise how often you hurt one another or how deeply you feel that hurt."

Very slowly, he leaned forward, his eyes intent as he stared at Harry – it probably wasn't Legilimency, just Professor Snape being his usual intimidating self. "I have a question for you, Potter. Who is to blame for the death of Sirius Black?"

Harry flinched, and it was obvious to all of them that he would have said Snape if he had dared. That was probably why Snape had asked the question in the first place, Hermione suspected, or at least part of the reason. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he said finally, sullenly.

"No. She is an opportunist; she took the chance to kill him but it is not her fault that he was there to be killed. Who is to blame for the death of Sirius Black?"

"...Kreacher _–_"

"No. The house elf betrayed him and lied to him, but again, he was merely taking advantage of an existing opportunity. Who is to blame for the death of Sirius Black?"

"You-Know-Who?" Harry tried, growing a bit paler.

"No." Snape's voice was as inexorable as a death knell. "Who is to blame for the death of Sirius Black?" he repeated insistently, and Harry broke.

"I am!" He choked back a sob, struggling not to cry.

Snape raised an eyebrow, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. He glanced at Hermione for a second, for some reason, before returning his gaze to Harry. "We are beginning to make progress," he said quietly. "Stop whining, Potter. Your temper has consequences; that is the lesson you need to learn. To that end, I am going to once again instruct you to practice your meditation, as you should have done a year ago. Not only will it help you to close your mind to outside influences, it will also help you to control your wayward emotions. I expect your friends to jump on you when you show signs of having a tantrum, and I expect you to listen."

A chair appeared beside the table, and Snape walked over to it and sat down. Leaning back, he stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles, steepling his fingers and regarding the three of them pensively. "The other thing I will be teaching you in these training sessions is to think in different ways," he said. "You are no longer children by any definition except that of the law; you cannot afford to think as children do any longer.

"The first lesson you must learn is this: there is no black and white. There are no absolutes. Nothing is as simple as it appears at first glance. You _must _learn this, and you must learn not to make instant judgements but to consider all sides before you act." Snape regarded the three of them for a moment. "Already you doubt me. Let us consider a few examples, then. No human being is wholly good or wholly evil." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you agree, or disagree?"

"Disagree, of course," Harry said instantly, recovering from the tears that had threatened earlier.

Snape raised the other eyebrow. "Convince me."

"Vol –" Harry started, and abruptly corrected himself at the venomous glare the syllable earned him. "You-Know-Who, then," he finished, sounding irritated. "He's pure evil."

"Is he?" Snape asked calmly. "Why?"

Harry floundered. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"He wants to kill us all," Ron volunteered.

Snape snorted. "Weasley, I want to kill you all on a daily basis. Your own mother probably frequently entertains fond thoughts of throttling you. You'll have to do better than that."

"He hates people based on their bloodlines," Hermione said, feeling that she should be contributing, although she wasn't convinced that her answer was right.

"And does that make him evil? Or simply mistaken?"

She nodded, accepting the point. "He tortures people for fun."

Snape nodded. "True. He likes causing pain. That makes him a deviant, but I am not convinced that it makes him evil, as such. He is mentally damaged in that respect." He shook his head. "I have made my point. You're all very certain that the Dark Lord is pure evil, but none of you can actually say why. Unless you can back up a conviction, it is likely to be wrong, and is it not rather foolish to believe something when you don't know why you believe it? Blind faith is not particularly healthy."

He stood up and paced slowly over to stand in front of them, his head slightly on one side and his dark eyes almost thoughtful. "Even the Dark Lord is not purely evil. He does have one or two good points in his nature. Not many, but some. Consider Nagini, his familiar. She is more than merely a pet, or a weapon – he genuinely cares for her, as odd as that notion might be. And he is – or was – a gifted and charismatic leader, capable in his own way of looking after his own. A being of pure evil could not have amassed the following that he has. Not all the Death Eaters are mindless sadists." He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied them. "I didn't join him because I wanted to torture and kill innocent people," he said quietly. "Despite what I have overheard all of you saying about me over the years, I assure you, I am not pure evil either." The three of them exchanged glances; ever since finding out that Snape had once been a Death Eater, they had all wondered why. It was one of the puzzles that Hermione hadn't managed to work out yet, and one that she thought about a lot.

After a moment he breathed out slowly and continued briskly, "The being you have encountered is a shadow of what was once just a man much like any other. Tom Riddle was always flawed to some extent, but he did not start out as a monster, and even now he has the tiniest remnants of humanity in him. Not enough to vindicate him, of course, but even he is not purely evil. In the same way, nobody is purely good and noble." He watched them nodding and sneered a little. "You find that much easier to accept. How tragic to see such cynicism in the young."

Snape regarded the three of them pensively again. "Most of what you think you know is flawed. The concepts of right and wrong, good and evil, are not absolutes. Nothing is ever that simple."

Harry said grimly, "You-Know-Who told me that. He said there was no good and evil, only power."

"Clean your ears out when you next have a bath, Potter," Snape said irritably. "That isn't what I said at all. This will be much easier if you actually listen to me – although you have not demonstrably done so in six years, so why I am expecting you to start now, I do not know. Of course good and evil exist, but not as separate absolutes, only as facets of the same thing. Just as no one person is purely good or purely evil, so no deed or action is purely good or purely evil."

"There's no such thing as true altruism?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"Precisely," he confirmed crisply. "Nobody ever does anything unless it benefits them somehow, even if only by providing them with the opportunity to feel smug and self-righteous in some manner."

"The things you go through benefit you, do they?"

He gave her a warning look that advised her to tread carefully, but surprisingly answered her. "Obviously. What I endure contributes towards the final plan. I would hardly go through it all for nothing; I am not that much of a masochist."

"Some things are evil, though," Ron said slowly.

"Such as?"

"Murder?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me?" Snape asked caustically. "Don't stammer, boy. If it's what you believe, then say so."

Ron shrugged uncomfortably. "Okay. Murder is evil."

"Define murder."

He blinked, frowning. "Killing someone, I guess."

"Killing someone is the same as murder, is it?" Snape asked. "Think of the fight at the Ministry. If one of the spells you used had caused someone's death, would that have been murder? Or self defence? Or doesn't it count if it happens during battle, during wartime?"

Ron nodded slowly. "Killing someone who's no threat to you, when you don't have a good reason?" he hazarded.

"So if you have 'a good reason' then it's acceptable to kill someone?"

"That's not what I meant," he protested.

"It's what you said," Snape replied. "You need to think these things through carefully. Your ethics and your moral convictions will define your life and guide your actions; you need to understand what it is that you believe in, and you need to know where you draw the line."

"Word games are all very well," Harry said sullenly, "but murder is still evil, however you define it."

"All right, Potter, let us look at things from a different angle. Let us move on and consider the Unforgiveable Curses. Are they truly unforgiveable, do you think?"

"Well... yeah."

"Why?"

"The Cruciatus curse exists purely to cause pain," Hermione said quietly. "It's a torture curse, and nothing else."

Snape nodded. "True. Yet it was not invented to cause pain for the sake of causing pain. Torture is a tool designed to gain information quickly when time is a luxury. Both sides have used it for that reason and will continue to do so. Sometimes the ends justify the means; you are all familiar with the concept of the lesser evil."

"The lesser evil is still evil, surely," Hermione said quickly.

He snorted softly. "Touché, Miss Granger. Yet evil done for good reasons is not purely evil. I am not trying to justify anything," he added when Harry opened his mouth. "It is still very wrong. I am merely trying to show you that it is not a simple, monochrome absolute; sometimes there are no right choices, which you will learn if you haven't already. What of the other Unforgiveables, then?"

"The Imperius curse takes away free will," Harry said. "That's a definition of evil."

"It has also been said that free will is an illusion, but this isn't a philosophy class," Snape replied dismissively. "The Imperius curse itself is harmless. Like many things, it is what you do with it that makes it good or evil. Nothing about the spell says that you have to make the victim do evil things. You could put a Death Eater under the Imperius and make him help little old ladies cross the street or knit jumpers for homeless children or feed stray kittens if you wanted to."

"Maybe we should," Ron muttered, earning another snort.

"Okay, fine," Harry said, sounding as though it was anything but fine. "But surely even you have to admit that the Killing Curse is unforgiveable."

Snape's thin lips curved into a rather odd smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Is it? Tell me, Mr Potter... what, exactly, is so _unforgiveable_ about a quick and painless death?"

There was a very long silence. Harry opened his mouth, then frowned and slowly closed it again, glancing around uncertainly for inspiration. Ron was blinking and staring at the wall; Hermione looked back at Harry, as lost for an answer as they were.

Snape nodded slowly. "You see? Nothing is ever as simple as it seems at first glance. Given the entire spectrum of the Dark Arts, it makes no sense at all for the Killing Curse to be defined as Unforgiveable purely because it supposedly cannot be defended against. There are spells that can turn someone's mind into a prison, making them hallucinate all their greatest fears over and over again until they are hearing smells, seeing sounds and smelling colours as their brains dissolve. There are spells that can literally turn someone's skin inside out. There are spells that can boil the acid in someone's stomach, or braid together the nerves in their spinal cord, or freeze the fluid in their eyes. I know which spell I would choose to end my life, if I were to be given the choice. Avada Kedavra was never intended to be used as a weapon. It was created by Healers and used to grant a quick, merciful end to those who could not be saved from what would otherwise be a slow and painful death. Every Healing institute still has policies in place to allow a terminal patient to petition for such an end."

The long silence returned. Finally Snape broke it again, his voice softer now. "Any fool can teach you how to fight, how to follow orders, even how to kill. I want to teach you how to _think. _It is easy to do what you are told. It is even easy to do what you think is right. It is not easy to decide what that is. You need to understand what you are about to do before you do it, to understand the consequences of your actions. It is the reason behind a deed that makes it right or wrong, not the deed itself. Remember... the people on the other side think they're right, too."

* * *

><p>Once the three of them had left, Severus looked down at the scraps of parchment he still held. The boys had been wildly off-course in their assessment of him, naturally, although he did feel a faint flicker of... something... to see that both of them had suggested his greatest strength was courage. That was a vindication, of sorts, especially since he had spent years with Potter Senior calling him a coward. They had both given his greatest flaw as spite, or temper, which just made him roll his eyes – that wasn't necessarily a <em>flaw <em>at all, in his mind. But Granger, now... He glanced down at her paper again and bit his lip.

In her neat writing she had written under his name, _Greatest strength, loyalty; greatest weakness, self-hatred. _With those half-dozen words, she had scared the hell out of him, because she was dead right. It was exactly the assessment he would have given of himself, but nobody else had ever known him well enough to realise it before, and the fact that she had seen straight to the heart of him frightened him. Literally, physically, scared him; his mouth was dry and his pulse was beating faster. Licking his lips, he carefully set fire to the scraps of paper, and as he watched them burn to ash he reflected that he was even deeper in trouble now than he had been last year.

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><p><em>Elemental magic fan art! Thank you, <strong>frusie:<strong> _ jeanswear dot deviantart dot com /gallery/#/d4flsxg


	17. Chapter 17

_It's a very busy time for everyone at Hogwarts at the moment, it seems...  
><em>

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><p><strong>"To feel forgiveness, you got to forgive<br>Do you see the stars or the darkness begin?  
>You fight your war, I fought for my life<br>You pay your dues and I'll pay mine..."**  
>– Manic Street Preachers, 'It's Not War (Just The End Of Love)'.<p>

* * *

><p>A couple of evenings later, Hermione was called to the Room of Requirement by Dilys' portrait; the elderly witch was grinning in a decidedly unsettling manner. "So, my dear, can you guess why we're here?"<p>

"Professor Snape said he'd asked you to help me with my confidence issues," she replied a little sourly – it wasn't as if he was in a position to comment on anyone else's poor self esteem, after all.

"Yes," Dilys agreed cheerfully, "and I will gladly do so. But not in the way that he imagines, because dear Severus is a man, and there are some things he simply does not understand."

Hermione blinked rather warily at the portrait. "Like what?"

Dilys smiled kindly at her. "For boys – and all men are still boys at heart in some ways, as you will learn over time – their confidence is tied to what they can do. Who scores the most Quidditch goals, who can do the flashiest magic, who can lift the biggest weight, silly testosterone-fuelled things of that sort. For women, though, our confidence is tied far more to our looks, even though we might wish otherwise. So, Hermione, I'm going to give you a makeover – or make you give yourself one, at least."

"No." She didn't even have to think about it, giving Dilys a rebellious look.

"Oh, relax. I'm not going to be attempting any of the things young Miss Weasley has tried to inflict on you, or those ridiculous children you share a dormitory with – and they _are _children, children who are trying far too hard. The only reason it seems to be working now is that teenage boys are ridiculously easy to impress. Once everyone's hormones have calmed down they will find that they aren't as pretty as they think they are. In any case, that is by far the wrong approach in this instance, I suspect."

She fought the blush with everything she had, dredging up every scrap she had ever learned about Occlumency to keep her face expressionless as she glared at the portrait. "I'm not going to do it."

Dilys smiled again and gave her a knowing look. "Relax. The key word here is subtlety, Hermione; it's not just for Slytherins, you know, although they tend to appreciate it more. I'm going to suggest lots of very, very tiny changes, half of which you won't even notice, and you'll be astounded at the difference it makes. You might even enjoy yourself, my dear; most of your peers will be aware that _something _has changed, but they won't be able to figure out what, and it's going to irritate a lot of people. You're probably going to make a few girls jealous, too, by the end, and believe me, there are few things more enjoyable than the sound of some stuck-up young thing chewing on her own liver in frustration."

She stifled a giggle, suddenly remembering the Yule Ball. It had nearly killed her, achieving that look, but the absolute stunned amazement on every single face had _so _been worth it – even if Ron had spectacularly failed to respond the way she had hoped. Viktor had been... quite appreciative, she remembered, smiling. And yes, the other girls had given her looks of such pure hatred... she hadn't enjoyed herself so much in years.

Looking down at herself, her smile faded. "There's not exactly much to work with."

"Nonsense," Dilys told her briskly. "Just because you don't look like whatever the current fashion is doesn't mean a thing. Your looks are timeless – regardless of current tastes, you are pretty, and it's high time you realised it. What do you most want to change about yourself?"

"My hair," she replied instantly. "I like the colour and I like my curls... I just hate it being so frizzy and uncontrollable."

Dilys grinned. "I thought so. Well, you're going to be disappointed there, because we're going to leave your hair well alone. Replace the word 'uncontrollable' with the word 'untamed', dear; a bit of wildness can be very appealing, especially since the rest of your appearance is so smart and restrained. I will order you to let it grow longer, though."

"What? Please, Dilys, no. I can barely cope with it as it is," she protested.

"Growing it will help, believe me," the portrait assured her. "The extra weight will pull the curls out just a little bit and make it less bushy. There will be more of it but it will be more manageable. Trust me; my mother had hair very much like yours. The only thing to do with it is to grow it long enough to weight it down, or to cut it so short that it doesn't curl, which I doubt either you or... anyone else... would ever forgive me for."

Hermione frowned. That did sound logical, sort of, but... Pensively she picked up a lock of hair and gently pulled it, noticing that the longer curl did look a bit less bushy. "Maybe," she said finally, before sighing. "I'll try it, but if I can't stand it then I'm cutting it again."

"Of course," Dilys replied. "None of this is compulsory, Hermione. We're just experimenting; not all my ideas will work for you, and fun though some of them are I don't think you'd dare," she added with a truly disturbing smirk that made Hermione blush a little. "But a lot of them will make you feel better about yourself, possibly without you even realising, and that will spill over into your confidence in your magic, which was the original point."

"Are you sure? This all sounds... well..."

"Insane? Yes, I know, but you need to trust me. Severus wanted me to help you improve your confidence, and this really is the quickest way – after all, we don't really have time for you to perform lots of amazing feats. Trust me, Hermione. I was young once, you know, and I have become a rather adept study of human nature over the years. Now, let's move on to your clothes..."

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was feeling very out of her depth. She'd never paid much attention to her clothes at all and it seemed utterly insane that anything Dilys had suggested was going to make any difference at all; people weren't even going to see any of it. The portrait insisted it would make her feel different and that would show outwardly, but she remained sceptical. She was certain that this was a bad idea and wondering if she would ever dare smack Snape for putting her through it; admittedly he certainly hadn't had this in mind when he had enlisted Dilys' help, but that didn't stop her blaming him. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror that had appeared; at least this one didn't seem disposed to talk. Since entering adolescence she had developed a rabid hatred of all magical mirrors and their criticism. "I feel stupid."

"All I'm asking is that you try, Hermione. Give it a week. If after that you still feel uncomfortable, then it's not working and you should stop, but I think you'll be surprised." Dilys studied her for a few minutes, thoughtfully. "We're almost there."

"I think you're putting too much faith in this, Dilys."

"Nonsense. Confidence is sexy, Hermione, and these tiny little changes will make you seem much more confident, and the reaction you get will make you _feel _more confident."

"How exactly do you know all this?" she asked. "I mean, don't you come from the time of corsets and so on, when bare ankles were scandalous?"

"Witches were never _quite _that repressed, dear. In any case, I was a Healer specialising in female problems, and I was also a teacher. Teenage girls haven't been a mystery to me since I was one. And Poppy and I take great delight every few weeks in laughing together over the latest nonsense in _Witch Weekly. _None of those silly fripperies are necessary, Hermione; if you feel sexy, you'll look sexy. It really is as simple as that."

* * *

><p>Time for extra lessons again; Severus found the whole situation quite ironic, really. He hated teaching, he always had and he always would, and the last thing he wanted was to spend any more time with any of the Trio – Potter was his own personal form of torture, Weasley annoyed him immensely, and it was probably bad for his health to spend too much time with Granger, under the circumstances. Yet, here he was in his office, waiting for Weasley to show up. Hopefully this would be the only time he would need to see the boy alone, and hopefully it would go better than the private lesson he had a feeling he was going to have to endure with Potter before too much longer – he hoped he wouldn't need to do it, but his luck had never been good – but still, there were better ways to spend an evening.<p>

He glanced up at the hesitant tap on the door. "Enter." This was at least something new, he supposed – he'd never spent any time with the youngest Weasley boy, not even during detentions. But he had watched him, over the years, as he had watched all of them, and he had been thinking about this lesson for a while now.

"...Good evening, Professor," the boy mumbled awkwardly; he looked – well, terrified, actually, and Severus repressed a smirk, sternly telling himself to behave.

"Good evening, Mr Weasley. Sit. We are here primarily to play chess. While we play, I will talk, and you will listen. You do not need to look at me, you do not need to respond, we will not discuss anything. Take a seat, and make your move when you are ready."

Looking seriously bewildered, the redhead nodded and sat down, keeping his eyes on the chessboard that had been set up. Personally, Severus preferred Muggle chess, but since he didn't know any Muggles, he put up with playing wizard chess. He owned several sets; the worst one had belonged to his great-grandfather, and the pieces screamed and bled as they were taken. He had left that to Dumbledore in his will; at least the old man would get the point, even if he wouldn't care. This set was perfectly ordinary, though.

Slowly Weasley sent his first pawn forward. As Severus moved in response, he began to speak quietly, keeping his own eyes firmly on the chessboard; he hated this sort of thing. "I have been watching you since your first year, Mr Weasley, and I have known your family for a very long time. You are the youngest son of a poor family; you have spent most of your life resenting being in the shadow of your brothers, desperate for a chance to grab something of your own. That carries over into your friendships. You have never liked the fact that Miss Granger is smarter than you are, and you have never liked the fact that Mr Potter attracts so much more attention. No, don't talk, remember? Just listen.

"You spend too much time worrying about things that those around you are better at. It's called an inferiority complex, Mr Weasley, and it is a well recognised psychological issue. Instead of fretting about being overshadowed, you should be finding something you are good at, for your own sake. You follow Potter as though you are joined at the hip. If you persist in trailing around after him like a lost puppy, you cannot complain if you are only ever treated as his sidekick. You might think about that in your spare time, but it is not what I wish you to consider tonight. _Eyes on the chessboard, _if you please, Mr Weasley, you are in check."

God, how he hated speeches. His Slytherins were mostly capable of working things out for themselves with no more than a couple of leading questions; damned Gryffindors, needing things spelled out for them. Resisting the urge to sigh, he continued.

"Of course Potter is going to be in the limelight. He is the so-called _Chosen One, _after all. I know you are aware of the prophecy; think about what it says. War is not about glory, Weasley. It's not about honour. If you survive, you might well get a shiny medal and a pat on the head and your picture in that useless rag of a newspaper, but that is not what the war is about. Checkmate, incidentally; pay attention, I thought you were a better player than this. Does it really matter who gets the credit for bringing the Dark Lord down? The important thing is that our side wins; individual victories are hardly important. I know you aren't actually selfish, Weasley, because I know your parents and they would not have raised you to be as stupid as you often appear, despite your older brother's deficiencies – _I said keep your eyes on the chessboard. _You are three moves from checkmate again already, because you are not concentrating. I told you before to stop taking everything so personally. Contrary to popular belief, I very seldom insult anyone purely for the sake of insulting them; there is usually an actual reason for it. Check."

All right, maybe this could be fun after all, but Severus still felt like a bloody idiot.

"I will talk about this more later. The main reason for this meeting, aside from the entertainment of beating you at chess, was to discuss the other useful strength that I mentioned before. Let us consider Mr Potter more closely..."

* * *

><p>Hermione waited up for Ron the first time he went to meet with Snape alone, suspecting – correctly, as it turned out – that Snape would keep him late. It was nearly midnight when the redhead shambled in, looking a little bewildered, and he grinned in relief to see her and came to flop down in the chair opposite her.<p>

"How did it go?" she asked, and he rolled his eyes comically at her.

"Horrible. He absolutely thrashed me. Beat me four times in a row, then I managed to get a stalemate, and then to make me pay for it he beat me another six times before he let me go. The man plays chess like a demon."

She stifled a giggle and tried to look sympathetic, with only marginal success. "Poor dear." Frankly, Ron's ego had needed deflating; he was better than his brothers and Harry, and he never played against anyone else. She couldn't play at all, not with a wizarding set, because she got too distracted when the pieces fought so brutally. "What else, though?"

Ron looked uncertain. "It was a bit weird. I... think I sort of see what you were on about when you kept going on about how he's just a human being. He... talked. About lots of stuff, really. He's helped me understand a few things." He gave her an almost guilty look, and she rolled her eyes and smiled at him.

"You don't have to tell me, stupid. I'm not going to tell you anything I've talked about." Mostly because it would cause another row, but still.

He snorted and relaxed into his chair, rubbing his eyes; he did look a lot better, actually, less on edge and more like the boy she remembered. "He talked about other stuff, too. Remember how he said there was something else I could do for the war that he'd tell me about in private?"

"Ron, do I need to make you look up 'private' in the dictionary?"

He grinned. "Funny. Nah, seems 'private' just means 'not in front of Harry'. Where is he, by the way?"

"Asleep. He waited up for a while, but after the third time he started snoring I sent him to bed because he was annoying me. So come on, tell me; you've got me curious now."

Ron looked serious, frowning slightly. "Well, it sounds a bit horrible now I come to say it to someone else, but – well, Snape told me I'd need to keep Harry focused, you know? Keep him remembering who he is, kind of thing. Keep him grounded."

"Oh," Hermione said softly. "He really is a clever man."

"You reckon he's right, then?"

"Yes. Come off it, Ron. We've both seen how much Harry's changed since the war started. When's the last time you heard him laugh? I haven't even seen him smile in ages. He worries too much and he gets too moody for his own good and starts brooding. He needs you to snap him out of it."

"And you? I asked Snape why he wasn't telling you this too, and he just did that weird almost-smile he does and said I should ask you because you'd already know."

Hermione smiled. "I do know. Harry does need me, but not for that. I'm not his friend, I'm his big sister; I look after him, I nag him to eat his vegetables and do his homework and go to bed on time, and I tell him about girls when he's too thick to work it out for himself. You're his best mate, not me. He needs you so he can act like a teenage boy every now and then; I make him act like a grown-up, and you don't. He needs both of us, but for different reasons. That's what Professor Snape meant when he said all three of us were going to be needed. You and me, we're here to see that Harry makes it. You know that, don't you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I know. He's the one that matters."

"No, he's not," she corrected him gently. "We all matter. I don't think he'll make it without us."

Ron grinned suddenly. "Merlin, now you even _sound _like Snape."

She rolled her eyes and stood up. "You meant it as an insult, but I actually think it's a compliment," she told him loftily. "Go to bed."

"Yes, ma'am. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

><p>Hermione sat quietly in her usual seat in the Potions classroom with her chin propped on her hand, watching Professor Slughorn thoughtfully. It was still very strange, being taught Potions by anyone other than Snape. The classroom itself was different, brighter and – warmer, somehow; it even smelled different, but she wasn't sure she liked the changes much. Before, it had been what it was supposed to be; a laboratory, functional and practical and yet with a hint of dramatic atmosphere; now it felt... false, in an odd way.<p>

She watched Slughorn almost absently, listening with only half an ear. She'd already read this lesson several times, both the textbook version and the Half-Blood Prince's notes on it; right now she was more interested in the demonstration, focusing on their teacher's hands as he blended the ingredients.

It wasn't the same, she reflected idly. Oh, Slughorn was certainly a good teacher, after all his years of experience; he knew exactly what he was doing at all times. But he lacked Snape's... flair. There was a certain rhythm to Snape's movements when he brewed, a flow to his actions that made them seem as natural as breathing. He made it all seem so effortless, as though it was a part of him, a natural process of his body rather than a conscious action he was performing.

Slughorn had several decades on him, so it wasn't a question of practice, simply a matter of sheer natural talent. Their current Potions professor was a skilled and competent teacher, but their previous teacher was a true expert. She had found out during the course of her background reading years ago that _Potions Master_ wasn't an affectation as she had always assumed, but a genuine title that meant far more than simple _Professor. _Snape held a Mastery in Potions; as far as she understood it, Master status was the highest academic rank you could achieve in the wizarding world, far beyond degree level and equivalent to a doctorate at least. And although she hadn't had as much time as she would like to read through his old textbook, even when he had been her age it seemed he had known a startling amount about Potions that she could only dream of.

Which did rather beg the question of what he was doing in Hogwarts; she had wondered about that for years. Why was Snape here, doing a job he clearly hated and was massively overqualified for? She hadn't known the answer to that question until the day Madam Pomfrey had told her of Snape's true role in the war. He was here purely because he had needed to be in position when Voldemort returned.

Miserable as that was, one of the side effects had been to give many years of Hogwarts students an absolutely stellar education in Potions that no other school could hope to match. Every non-Slytherin student might well hate him, and a lot of them did have good reason, and everyone might agree that he was harsh and almost tyrannical at times and an absolute unpleasant bastard, quite frankly... but nobody could deny that he was a very good teacher. He simply would not allow his students to get poor results. The Potions grades were consistently higher than average and it was generally the subject with the greatest pass rate.

Slughorn, skilled though he was, simply couldn't compete with that, in Hermione's admittedly possibly somewhat biased opinion. He didn't even maintain Snape's tight control over his classes; she was pretty sure she was one of the only students ever to have realised that the man wasn't being a strict disciplinarian purely for the sake of it but also because Potions was a dangerous subject and students misbehaving could potentially cause very serious accidents. Slughorn's whole attitude was different, less focused and less aware and just... _less._

Suppressing a small smile, she reflected that his hands weren't right, either. She'd spent years watching Snape's hands, focusing on every movement of those long and elegant fingers. Every action was smooth and precise and there was absolutely no wasted energy; every movement had a purpose. His hands were marked by his craft, stained and scarred and callused in a dozen small ways that were hard to notice unless you looked closely; they were the hands of a craftsman, combining art and sheer hard work. Slughorn's hands seemed soft and clumsy by comparison; she was pretty sure he manicured his fingernails.

More than all of that, though, the two men differed most in their reactions to what they did. Slughorn obviously enjoyed his job; he liked teaching, liked interacting with the students, and for him Potions was a hobby and a means to an end. Snape, by contrast, hated his job and his students equally from what Hermione had observed, except for the actual brewing of potions. When he was marking essays or asking questions or walking around scrutinising their work, he was his usual harsh and unpleasant self, but sometimes when he was demonstrating a potion to them – or, much less frequently, sometimes during certain lectures – something in his eyes changed, almost a softening, as if some inner tension had relaxed a little. She had watched him brewing privately and seen it far more clearly; for Snape, his potions work satisfied some inner need, gave him a sense of peace and purpose and fulfilment that he didn't seem to find anywhere else.

By contrast, his expression during Defence lessons told a very different story. There was certainly a part of him that genuinely enjoyed the subject in all its darkness, admittedly, but mostly she could see that he was just trying to keep them all alive. He was trying to teach them how to survive, and yet she could see in his face that he knew they weren't going to listen. It was why he was giving her, Harry and Ron the extra lessons, because he knew that the students wouldn't heed the regular ones. Potions had given him peace, but Defence seemed to give Snape nothing but despair – although that was probably mostly a reflection of his general despairing attitude, these days.

_God knows he's got enough reasons to feel completely hopeless._

Pushing aside her troubled thoughts of her professor, Hermione focused on the lesson once more, and when her mind wandered again it was into the realm of Potions that her thoughts strayed; in particular, the Amortentia that Slughorn had showed them. Neither Ron nor Harry would admit to what it had smelled like to them, and she certainly hadn't said many of the different scents aloud. Sitting here, she registered that many of the herbal and smoky scents had come from the Potions classroom as it had been under Snape; that made sense, she supposed. Potions was one of her favourite classes, just behind Charms and tied with Transfiguration, despite his best efforts to completely discourage her. Maybe even because of it, actually, now she thought of it; winning her other teachers' approval wasn't hard, but with Snape she had to really push herself just to get something he couldn't criticise, and she had always liked a challenge.

Most of the other scents in the Amortentia hadn't been a surprise either – ink and parchment and paper and leather bindings, the smell of books. Sun-warmed grass... she'd loved the smell of grass cuttings since she was a little girl; it was the smell of summer. But there had been another scent winding through those notes, something tantalisingly familiar that had annoyed her for days until she'd finally recognised that it was the smell of rain, the indescribable scent of the air after a storm, fresh and clean and alive. It was a nice smell, but she couldn't quite work out what it represented – the only thing she had really noticed that smelled even slightly like that was Snape, oddly enough, that clean mineral tang to his personal scent, and it obviously couldn't be him.

Slughorn finished his lecture, and she put it out of her mind, sorting her ingredients out and starting to work on the potion, leaning over the battered textbook and studying the scribbled amendments to the instructions.

* * *

><p>At the end of their morning jog a week later, Snape caught her eye as she wished him good morning before turning away. "Your first combat lesson is tonight," he informed her crisply. "Tell your friends, and do not be late."<p>

She couldn't speak for the boys, but Hermione worried herself sick for the rest of the day. Defence was her weakest subject, despite all the work with the DA last year, and the only OWL she hadn't managed an Outstanding in; she knew she was no fighter. Besides, this was going to get ugly; Harry and Ron spent hours gleefully talking about finally getting their own back on the greasy git, until she finally lost her temper.

"Oh, grow up, Harry," she snapped. "He'll wipe the floor with you if you give him a reason to, and we all know it. We're teenagers, and we've only ever been in one real fight. What, exactly, do you think you're going to be able to do to him? And Ron, you've changed your tune since last week; did you forget already?"

Neither of them spoke to her for the rest of the afternoon, but she ignored it. They were both arrogant when it came to this sort of thing; she still remembered going after the Stone in the first year, and Harry blithely telling her that he'd be able to hold Snape off for a while even though he wasn't a match for him really. She'd been too busy panicking to give it much thought at the time, but even then part of her had wanted to laugh scornfully; Harry had been a weedy eleven year old who'd known about a dozen spells, none able to do any damage whatsoever. It had been just as well he hadn't ended up facing Snape in a fight; it would have lasted about thirty seconds at most.

Snape was waiting for them, looking much as he had done in their second year in the doomed Duelling Club, devoid of his billowing robes. Hermione looked at him for a moment, then shrugged out of her own robe and draped it over the back of her chair before sitting down and starting to braid her hair back out of the way; she didn't like doing it because it would be frizzier than ever when she took it out, but it made sense. The boys just sat down, and she barely stopped herself rolling her eyes.

"If you recall," Snape said softly, moving to stand in front of them, "I told you last time we met here that normal rules will not apply here. Do not use any illegal spells; beyond that, anything goes, and I mean anything. I advise you to practice wandless and non-verbal magic as much as possible. As I said before, you will get hurt here, but probably not today. For this evening, I merely wish to see what each of you can do, to give me a better idea of what you each need to learn. I won't be fighting back this time, only defending. I want each of you to attack me in turn. Don't hold back; I need to gain an accurate picture of your offensive abilities." He paused, his eyes glittering in a manner that never boded well. "Let's get this over with, Potter, shall we?"

Harry all but bounced up eagerly, gripping his wand, and Hermione winced; you didn't need Divination to see what was about to happen. She'd been right; thirty seconds later Harry lay flat on his back, winded and gasping, his glasses askew and his wand ten feet away from him, although she had no idea what he'd tried to do or what had happened to him when he did.

Snape looked utterly bored; he hadn't even unfolded his arms, merely flicked his wand slightly. "Right, let's try that again, shall we, Potter?" he asked silkily. "And this time, don't try to be clever. I've been fighting in formal duels since I was your age, and in informal scraps since long before that. Don't be stupid. I want to see what you _can _do, not what you would like to do but can't quite manage. Take a moment to think about what you're doing, instead of thinking about how much you'd like to hurt me, because it's not going to happen. You've got a lot to learn before you'll be able to harm me. Now stand up, pull yourself together, and try again."

Harry was stubborn as a mule, and although he wasn't stupid, he never did know when to give up. Hermione wasn't remotely surprised when Snape once again had to disarm him and throw him, and apparently nor was Snape. After the third time, her friend clearly couldn't stand, and their teacher rolled his eyes. "Miss Granger, do make sure he's not dead, if you please. The Headmaster will no doubt lecture me if he is."

Hermione knelt next to him. "Harry, are you okay?"

"I'll kill him," he wheezed.

"You're fine, then." She sighed and rested a hand on his shoulder, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Don't be stupid, Harry. He's trying to help you. You're not hurt, and you're a fool if you don't think he could have hurt you badly. I don't care if you don't want to hear it, but Professor Snape is a far better fighter than all three of us together. You can't win by just charging in. Now do as he says and think about what you're doing, okay?"

"We've taken him before."

"Five to one, when he wasn't paying attention and we got lucky," she pointed out softly. "Harry, he's twenty years older than us, and he's always been good at this sort of thing, and he's been fighting other wizards for most of his life. You're not going to be able to hurt him. Now will you please, please just show him what you know, so he knows what else to teach you? It doesn't matter whose side you think he's on, he's the best teacher we've got. And if you keep this up he's going to lose his temper, and then you'll get hurt. Come on, Harry, please. For me, if nothing else."

He glared at her, but sighed. "All right, all right. Ow."

"Stop fussing, you're only bruised," Snape said dismissively. "Calm yourself and try again. If you persist in this idiocy, I won't be gentle. Come."

Harry picked himself up; the last fall had evidently knocked a bit of the defiance out of him, as he finally seemed to register that Snape did know what he was doing. Brushing himself off, he paused and frowned, then took his robe off and threw it onto his chair before moving slowly back to his previous place and taking a moment to think at last.

Hermione watched, wide-eyed. From the DA, she knew that Harry knew a lot of jinxes and hexes as well as defensive spells, and there were all the other spells he'd learned when preparing for the Tri-Wizard Tournament; he was good, now that she had time to watch him fight without being terrified for her own life at the same time. But Snape was better, effortlessly blocking and deflecting everything sent at him until he disarmed Harry again a few minutes later, this time without throwing him half way across the room.

"Enough, for now. You're getting frustrated and angry and making mistakes. Stop." Harry glared at him, but when he retrieved his wand he sat down without arguing. Snape shook his head. "I keep telling you, Potter, you can't hope to beat me yet. You might be able to threaten me seriously, in time, if you pay attention; you certainly have the power, and some of the knowledge, but not the skill, not yet. That is why you are here. Your previous... extra-curricular activities... have given you a decent enough repertoire to be going on with, it seems, but again, you must work on your temper. Righteous anger is all well and good, but it is a serious liability in a fight. I shall have to think about this, but that was much as I expected. Weasley, you next."

Ron only had to be thrown once before he got the message that Snape was too strong for him, but he quickly grew flustered, turning red and fumbling his spells and at one point he nearly dropped his wand before Snape finally called a halt. Surprisingly, the older wizard didn't say anything mocking, merely gave him a thoughtful look and murmured, "Again, much as I was expecting," before turning with a smirk. "Miss Granger, if you please."

Cringing inwardly, Hermione stood and came to face him, preparing for humiliation. She really did hate not being able to do something well. At least she managed a few spells non-verbally, not that it seemed to make any difference; Snape didn't even look like he was trying. She might as well have been a first year for all the effort it was costing him to block or deflect everything she sent at him. She would have given up much sooner; it felt like an eternity before Snape finally nodded and raised a hand and let her slink back to her seat, red-faced and despondent.

His black eyes flickered briefly over each of them before he conjured a chair and came to sit in front of them. "That wasn't a complete disaster," he told them dryly. "Your DA has at least provided you with a decent background knowledge of combative spells, despite the disjointed teaching you have had to suffer throughout your education so far."

He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them loosely at the ankles, and leaned back. "Potter, first."

"I know, I know, my _temper. _Sir."

"Thank you for proving my point," Snape told him sardonically, arching an eyebrow disdainfully at him. "Yes, your temper. You're strong and quick and your reflexes aren't bad, but you telegraph every move before you make it, with your body language and facial expression as much as your thoughts –"

"Wait, you were using Legilimency?" Harry blurted.

"Of course I was."

"But that's not fair –"

"Good Lord, boy, you're not a child any more," Snape snapped at him. "There are some people in this building who could face me in a fair fight, but you're not one of them yet, and your enemies are certainly not going to be worried about _fair. _Besides, sensing what moves you're about to make lets me learn about your fighting style. As I was saying, you declare every move before you make it, which makes it very easy to block and defend against. And you get frustrated and angry, which means you start being stupid. You need to think and to keep your wits about you; we need to work on your self control. If you can manage that against me, you'll find it easy enough to do so against someone you _don't_ absolutely hate," he added with a faint edge to his voice before turning his head.

"Weasley, you're a lazy fighter," he continued. "You send a spell, then stop to see if it's worked, hoping not to have to do another. That will get you killed very quickly. You're too obvious about your moves as well, and you keep using the same few spells over and over. You try to show off, too," he added dryly. "You're never going to have lightning reflexes, but you're powerful enough, once you learn how to use it and stop going for the flashy spells on general principles. Again, you'll do better when you're focusing on the fight and not on how to try and hurt me."

Ron scowled, flushing darkly, but he didn't argue.

Snape turned to Hermione. "Which brings us to you, Miss Granger."

"I was terrible," she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. "No, actually. Your style is different to your friends, but not necessarily worse. You know instinctively that you don't have the raw power for larger spells and don't waste time, and your body language doesn't betray you. Had you thought to use Occlumency as well, your mind might have been hidden enough to benefit you against someone who doesn't know you, although your expression still gives you away every time. Your magic is more suited to defence than offense; you are not a natural fighter. Mainly you lack confidence, as I have said before; part of you fears that your spells won't work, so you're not putting your full strength behind them. You are also reluctant to hurt anyone and try to stick to less damaging spells even when you think of stronger ones, giving you a tendency to flinch as you cast, which is all very admirable but won't help here."

Snape stood up and began to pace slowly back and forth. "Mostly, the three of you simply lack experience. You need to be taught to react quickly and instinctively and to learn how to assess a situation swiftly so you know what to do and what not to do, and you need to learn how to accept the realities of fighting – namely, that you will get hurt and that you will hurt others. You need to learn your strengths and weaknesses and how to work best with others who fight in different ways, and to control yourselves. The best way to do that is to practice. I want the three of you to start mock-duelling one another here as often as you can, and I will test you when I can spare the time. Once I see some improvement, you'll start facing me singly, in pairs or all of you together, and I can tailor our duels to what you each need to learn."

He smirked briefly. "I want you to start exercising, as well, if you don't already." Hermione bit her lip to avoid laughing, trying not to catch his eye as he continued. "Physical strength is important; it does affect your use of magic, a little, and it matters a great deal as far as endurance and stamina in a fight are concerned. We'll be fighting physically as well as magically."

"Why, in case we want to punch Voldemort?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"I've told you not to use his name in front of me. Don't make me tell you again. And yes, to be blunt," Snape told him flatly. "You may well be disarmed in a fight, and too drained or too dazed to use wandless magic. Most wizards know nothing about hand to hand combat. It may not do much good, but it will buy time; more importantly, your opponent will not expect it. I'm not teaching you how to duel, I'm teaching you how to survive. All's fair in love and war, and we are at war. Anything goes. _Anything. _Magic is your first means of defence, but it's not your only option."

"So we're allowed to hit you?" Ron checked.

Snape gave him a withering look. "When we reach that point, yes. If you can. Do bear in mind that I will also be hitting you."

"I don't believe the Headmaster's going to allow this," Harry protested.

"Then ask him," Snape replied dismissively. "Tempting though it is, I have already promised him that I won't damage any of you too badly, but you won't learn otherwise. The only way to truly learn fighting is to get into fights, and it's safer to do so here in a controlled environment with someone who knows what they're doing." He regarded the three of them distantly. "It's brutal and it's far from ideal, but you'll learn quickly. Time is not on our side. In an ideal world someone would have begun training the three of you years ago, but as it is, this is our best option." He glanced up at the wall, and a clock obligingly appeared. "That will do for tonight. Do try to think about what I've said; I assure you, I am not doing this for fun."

* * *

><p>The following morning, Snape broke the companionable silence between them to ask archly, "So, what did you think of your lesson last night?"<p>

"Truthfully, sir?"

"If you really must, although at your age you should know that it is usually better to lie most of the time."

Ignoring that with a small smile, Hermione replied honestly, "Well, sir, I was expecting you to use the chance to try and hurt Harry."

She watched him uncertainly as they jogged onwards in suddenly thick silence; he was staring into the distance with a rather faraway expression. Finally he sighed, not looking at her. "I can hardly blame you for assuming that, I suppose. I must admit I considered it."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't," she offered, and he snorted.

"Thank you for your vindication. My life now has meaning once again," he told her sarcastically. Apparently he was in one of his moods; Hermione resisted the urge to try and think of a comeback and held her tongue for the rest of the run.

* * *

><p>Severus was preoccupied with trying not to fall asleep in his breakfast when the owl landed in front of him. He gave the bird a faintly puzzled look; he rarely received any post at all, let alone a small parcel like the one bound to the creature's leg. Carefully untying it – postal owls, like most magical creatures, didn't like him; he assumed they could sense the Dark Mark somehow – he examined it and the attached note with a frown. It was from the Hogsmeade post office, and the stamp marked it as having been redirected to Hogwarts from a Muggle origin. He couldn't think of any reason offhand why a Muggle would be writing to him; he didn't really know any, now.<p>

"Anything interesting?" Minerva asked. He gave her a look; she should know better than to try and talk to him this early in the morning by now. Grunting vaguely by way of an answer, he set the package down and reached for his coffee again.

She snorted softly. "Honestly, Severus. Anyone would think you didn't enjoy your job," she told him dryly, and he huffed quiet amusement in spite of himself.

"What gave it away?" he asked in a gravelly voice, giving her an ironic look.

"Oh, I don't know, I just somehow picked up that general impression." The Deputy Headmistress regarded him thoughtfully. "I've often wondered, though, Severus – what did you actually want to do? Clearly teaching was never your ideal career." He shrugged, and she pressed him, "Humour me. Where would you like to be, right now?"

Severus looked around the Great Hall briefly and felt a faint glimmer of mischief surface from a part of him that he had thought was long dead. Turning back to face his colleague, he met her eyes and answered with complete and total honesty, "On a deserted island somewhere, in bed with a pretty girl half my age."

That earned him another snort and a look that was somewhere between disgust and amusement. "There's no talking to you in this mood. Be serious."

_I was. _He held his tongue and contented himself with trying to imagine Minerva's expression had she known which pretty young girl he had in mind, thankful that he wasn't awake enough to drift completely into fantasies. His dreams were bad enough as it was without lascivious thoughts monopolising his waking hours as well. _I'm too young to be a dirty old man._

"Seriously, Severus, what would you be doing if you had the chance?"

He sighed and turned to look at her. "What does it matter, Minerva?" he asked wearily. "I'm here, and although I am certain many people wish I was not, that's how it is. I have no choice." If by some miracle he made it through alive, he'd resign so fast it would make Dumbledore's head spin and they wouldn't see him for dust, but realistically it wasn't going to happen. He'd be here until he died, end of story. Good mood successfully crushed, he returned his attention to the remains of his breakfast and to speculating about the contents of his post.

Taking the parcel and the envelope, he retreated to his office and settled into his chair, swinging his legs up to rest his boots on the edge of the desk casually and making himself comfortable before curiously opening the envelope.

_Dear Professor Snape_

_I'm taking a risk in writing to you, I know that, but we daren't contact Hermione and this is important. It's her seventeenth birthday on the 19th of this month and she comes of age in your world. If it's possible to do so without causing any problems, please pass on her present and tell her that we're thinking of her and that we love her._

Severus raised an eyebrow and looked at the small package again. He had been vaguely aware that her birthday was approaching, but he hadn't been able to think of a convincing reason to look up the exact date. Filing that particular scrap of knowledge away for later consideration, he drew his wand and almost absently made a few passes over the innocent little parcel; no, it was harmless. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the letter.

_I don't know how your war is progressing. I suppose we're better off not knowing, as long as we know that Hermione is safe. I wish you luck, Professor._

_Yours_

_Helen Granger_

_PS: If you hurt my daughter in any way, then I will hunt you down and I'll make you pay for it. Wizard or not._

He stared at the letter's postscript for some time before starting to laugh despite himself. Remembering the two brief meetings he'd had with the woman, he honestly believed that she would do it. It was easy to see where the younger Granger got it from. It was also rather disconcerting that she'd felt it necessary to make the threat in the first place; maybe mothers had some sort of special instinct for such things, since nobody else had guessed so far and he'd wager half the contents of Gringotts that he hadn't betrayed himself. Unless she just meant it more generally, he supposed, based on years of hearing horror stories... he'd never been able to understand any woman, after all.

Severus drummed his fingers on the desk, shaking his head ruefully. Death Eaters and dark magic and evil snake-lords were all very well, but he sometimes thought that some of the women in his life were far scarier than any of the villains. Rather whimsically, he crafted an image in his head of Granger's mother, Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey; now there was an army to make even the Dark Lord tremble.

Snorting with poorly-suppressed laughter, he shoved the image away and regarded the letter again. There was no way to respond, of course, since the woman wasn't stupid and had smeared the postmark into illegibility; no way of tracing the letter's origins. That was probably just as well; he wouldn't have known what to say. Eyeing the small package curiously, he turned in his chair to look at the calendar thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing.

_Hmm._

Dozens of possibilities ran through his mind throughout the rest of the day, as he shamelessly neglected the work he should be doing in order to consider this utterly mundane and ridiculous problem of what to get someone for their birthday. The flash of inspiration that finally hit him late that night seemed almost divine in origin and nearly stunned him with the sheer perfection of it; for the first time in years, Severus fell asleep smiling and feeling quite pleased with himself.

* * *

><p><em>Hmm, indeed, Severus...<em>


	18. Chapter 18

_Action time! There are bits of everything here.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"What you see is what you get<br>You've made your bed, you better lie in it  
>You choose your leaders and place your trust<br>As their lies wash you down and their promises rust."**  
>– The Jam, 'Going Underground'.<p>

* * *

><p>The morning of September the nineteenth was clear and cold; Hermione had been watching her breath steam in the chill air while she waited for Snape to show up. He had arrived late, yawning and bleary-eyed and utterly unapologetic, as uncommunicative as always, and she resolutely squashed the tiny flutter of disappointment; she hadn't expected anything, she told herself sternly, so it had been stupid to hope. It didn't matter.<p>

Finished with the warm-down and starting to feel the chill again, she turned and made her way back into the passage they used in silence, telling herself resolutely again that it really didn't matter. Snape's gravelly early-morning voice stopped her as he said quietly, "Granger."

Caught by the relative informality of the address, and by the fact that he was speaking to her at all, she turned to face him, disgusted with herself at the renewed little flutter in her stomach. "Yes, sir?"

He dug a hand into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and held out a small package. "Your mother somehow contrived to send this to me. She's a tricky woman," he added blandly as she gaped at him. "I can see where you get it from." Hermione continued to stare at him until he rolled his eyes and stepped forward, unceremoniously seizing her wrist and pushing it into her hand.

As soon as she felt the shape of it, she knew what it was, and her breath caught for a moment as her eyes stung. "Oh..." Snape raised an eyebrow, cocking his head slightly to one side curiously, and she smiled shakily as she explained, "It's my mother's locket – well, my grandmother's, really. It's a family heirloom."

He nodded in understanding, and she looked back at it. "Thank you, sir." Looking back at him, she hesitated and bit her lip before turning away, and stopped when she heard him chuckle softly; turning back, she found him smirking at her, mocking as always but for once without malice.

"Honestly," he muttered, shaking his head. "Gryffindors. Here, Granger." He dug something out of his other pocket and gave it to her. "Happy birthday. Now bugger off and stop bothering me."

She had no idea what her expression showed, but it made him laugh properly for the first time in her hearing, a deep, somehow gentle and slightly husky sound; it didn't sound like he used it very often. Smiling a little shakily, caught between shock, happiness and embarrassment, she managed a quiet, "Thank you," before turning and hastily making her escape before she made a total fool of herself, his soft rusty laughter following her down the passageway.

* * *

><p>Showering and dressing in record time, Hermione flung herself down on the bed with her presents; the little pile at the end of the bed would have to wait, because all her attention was on the two small packets in her hands. She opened the one from her mother first, turning the small platinum locket over in her fingers before opening it; there were spaces for four tiny photographs – her mother had kept photos of her parents, her husband and her daughter in it. Now one of the slots held a picture of her parents, smiling with their arms around each other, and another held a photo of Crookshanks giving her a knowing look; the other two spaces were empty.<p>

Her mother had included a note, she saw, and she unfolded it with shaking hands.

_Dearest Hermione_

_Happy birthday. I hope this gets to you; I think it will – Professor Snape didn't seem like the kind of man to refuse a simple request without good reason. I wish we could be with you today, but it wouldn't have been possible anyway with you being away at school. I suppose you're an adult now... much as we would both like you to still be safely in our world with another year to go before growing up, I think in our hearts we always knew that wouldn't happen._

_We miss you terribly, all three of us, but at least we know you're safe at the moment. Please promise you'll try and stay that way, even if we're not there to hear that promise. Don't become a casualty; you're all we have, and we might never see you become the second female Prime Minister but there's no reason why we can't see you become the first female Minister of Magic._

_Your father and I are so very proud of you. _

_All our love_

_Mum and Dad (and Crookshanks, of course)._

_PS – Your professor is a very interesting character, isn't he?_

Hermione was laughing and crying simultaneously by the time she reached the end of the letter, although the postscript left her laughing more than she was crying; her mother had _no _idea. Strangely, it didn't sound like her mother disapproved, exactly; evidently Snape had somehow managed to make quite a good impression, although she suspected Hell would freeze over before she managed to find out just what the three of them had discussed that morning.

Smiling, sniffing and wiping her eyes, she looked back at the letter. The idea of her becoming Prime Minister had been a running joke in her family since she was five years old, and she had never been entirely sure how much of it was a joke and how much was serious parental ambition. Her parents would never try to make her do anything she didn't want to do, but she knew they wanted the world for her. "I promise I'll try to stay safe, Mum," she whispered, before her smile widened. "Professor Snape would never let me hear the end of it if I played the reckless Gryffindor again and ignored all his lessons."

And speaking of Professor Snape... Grinning in sheer delight, she reached for the other package. She had been sure that he didn't even know when her birthday was; okay, so her mother had told him, but he hadn't needed to get her anything. Just a simple 'happy birthday' from him would have had her on Cloud Nine for a week, he was that undemonstrative normally, but a present...

The small paper scroll fell into her palm, and she looked at it, puzzled for a moment. It was badly scorched down one edge, smelled faintly of smoke and looked a bit battered and tattered in places, very much the worse for wear... Very carefully, she unfolded it and stared down at the spiky handwriting, and started to smile. "Oh..."

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind  
>Two of us will help you, whichever you would find<br>One among us seven will let you move ahead  
>Another will transport the drinker back instead<br>Two among our number hold only nettle wine  
>Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.<br>Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore  
>To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four;<br>First, however slyly the poison tries to hide  
>You will always find some on nettle wine's left side<br>Second, different are those who stand at either end  
>But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend<br>Third, as you see clearly, all are different size  
>Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides<br>Fourth, the second left and second on the right  
>Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.<em>

"You brilliant, infuriating, clever, maddening man," she whispered, wiping her eyes again as she very, very carefully rolled the little scroll up once more. His message was obvious; he was gently reminding her that even aged twelve she had been capable of much more than could be expected of a child. Ordinarily a logic puzzle wasn't much, especially compared to what Harry had done later that night, but under the circumstances... yes, she could feel proud of it. And she had seen and done and learned so much since then... Snape was telling her gently that she didn't need to worry so much about her deficiencies.

This was quite possibly the sweetest present she had ever had. She had no idea why he had retrieved and kept the riddle – she couldn't imagine that it had been for this – but obviously he had, and now he had given it to her as a reminder of the first victory that she and her friends had won.

Abruptly Hermione realised, _Professor Snape gave me a poem for my birthday. _She promptly dissolved into hysterics, frantically muffling her giggles in her pillow as she laughed until her ribs ached.

* * *

><p>She didn't have Defence that day, so it wasn't until the next morning that she was able to speak to him; he had been avoiding looking at the Gryffindor table during meals. As usual, the two of them ran side by side in almost companionable silence, keeping to their mutual pace without even thinking about it now; she gathered her courage, and as they headed back to the castle after their warm-down she said quietly, "Thank you."<p>

Snape gave her an enigmatic look before inclining his head slightly. "You're welcome." He sounded ever so faintly sheepish, just the tiniest tremor under the roughness of his normal morning growl, and she found herself grinning at him.

"You're not a bad poet."

He snorted, that tiny hint of embarrassment subtly increasing. "It was drivel. But it got the job done."

"It was certainly less pretentious than turning your name into an anagram or something," she said reflectively, trying desperately not to laugh. This was absolutely brilliant – she was actually _teasing _Professor Snape, of all people, and rather than eviscerating her, verbally or physically, in retaliation he was actually responding with some of the gentle wry humour that she had seen before, almost as if they were really friends. It was a better present than the real gift had been, because it was far more than she had ever thought would be possible. This had definitely been the best birthday she had ever had – although she certainly wasn't going to comment on _the Half-Blood Prince. _Evidently even Snape couldn't avoid the sad fact that teenage boys could occasionally be really, really daft.

That earned her an even better gift, the soft rusty laughter that she had heard before, as Snape looked genuinely amused by the remark. "Almost everything about him is certainly pretentious," he agreed, smiling slightly – a real, warm smile, not a smirk or a sneer. The expression looked quite odd on his harsh features, almost awkward, and it was painfully obvious that he very seldom smiled, but it softened his eyes. "It's a shame that he doesn't realise it, really."

They reached the castle just then, and the mood broke; she saw the smile fade from his eyes as he withdrew into himself once more, but rather than feel disappointed, her mood remained surprisingly buoyant as she wished him 'good morning' and headed back towards Gryffindor Tower. She'd seen another glimpse of the real Snape today, and she valued it; she was determined to try and repeat the experience. After all, she was officially an adult now.

* * *

><p>Severus barely checked a sigh of relief when Voldemort finally dismissed them and stalked out; tonight's meeting had dragged interminably. He stood up slowly, wincing when his knees cracked in protest – kneeling for so long on a cold stone floor had done him no good whatsoever – and started for the door with the others, when he felt a touch on his arm and glanced sideways at the masked face. Recognising the grey eyes behind the mask, he nodded fractionally, and as they all filed out and started for the door Severus drifted sideways and ducked unobtrusively behind a tapestry. He had been to Malfoy Manor many times and briskly found his way to Lucius' private study, pouring two snifters of brandy from a crystal decanter on the sideboard before removing his mask and sinking into one of the plush armchairs by the fire.<p>

Lucius swept in a few moments later; it was still a jolt to see his old friend looking so dishevelled and on edge. Wordlessly, Severus levitated the other brandy glass over to him; the older wizard accepted it with a nod and crossed to the humidor on one end of the mantelpiece. "Cigar?"

"No, thanks. I have my own."

"Not those terrible Muggle cigarettes still?" Lucius quirked half a smile at him and came to sit opposite him. "You never did have any class."

"Of course not." He dug into his pocket for his cigarettes and lit up, relaxing into the chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. "I assume we are safe for a while?"

"Until the morning, with luck. How long can you spare?"

Severus raised an eyebrow at the note in his friend's voice. "I would like a little sleep tonight, but I can certainly spare a few hours for a good cause, and for good brandy."

"And what shall we drink to?" Lucius asked him with an odd smile.

"Being up off that cold floor without bleeding for the privilege," Severus quipped in response, both men sharing an ironic glance before drinking.

After quite a while and a refill of brandy, Lucius broke the companionable silence with a long sigh and an exhaled plume of cigar smoke. "Ah, Severus, old friend... Is this what you dreamed of?"

"Not quite," he replied affably, taking another sip of the brandy before reluctantly setting the glass down on the small table at his elbow; he had a feeling he would need a clear head. "It isn't exactly as you promised me it would be, either," he added without rancour or resentment.

"No." Lucius sighed again and turned to look at him; the pale eyes and the dark were both equally expressionless, equally tired. "Just whose side are you really on, Severus?"

"My own, of course."

Lucius smiled slightly. "Hardly. You have never been particularly self-serving. Almost unheard of for a Slytherin, you know. Whose side are you truly on?"

"In all honesty, old friend, I don't know any more," he replied after a moment's pause to make his mind up, shaking his head. "There are so many to choose from, these days. It was all so simple when I was younger and everything was black and white."

His friend nodded agreement and finished his drink. "Can I trust you with my son's life, Severus? Because that is my true concern now, above and beyond this damnable war."

"I swore the Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa."

"I know you did, Severus. Don't insult me by pretending that I am one of your Gryffindor colleagues from the other half of your life. I've known you since you were eleven. You have never made a promise without leaving yourself a loophole, even this one. You gave yourself a back door, somehow, didn't you?"

"Yes," Severus admitted candidly. "But I don't intend using it unless I must. Draco is my godson, Lucius, and I have known him since the day he was born. I will protect him for as long as I am able."

"Even if it means killing Dumbledore?"

"If it comes to that. I am no longer certain that it will. I'm not certain of anything any more. I have precious little loyalty left to Dumbledore, I can tell you that much; he has seen to that."

"And how much of your loyalty to the Dark Lord still remains to you?"

Severus considered the question as he finished his cigarette and leaned back, regarding one of the only people he had ever thought of as a friend through half-closed eyes. "At this point, my friend, I believe I am almost as loyal to him as you are."

"Ah..." Lucius sighed in understanding, and both men exchanged glances laden with meaning. "What is to be done about it? We have both learned from the examples set by others in the past..."

"I really don't know. I have no idea what is going to happen." He leaned sideways and picked up his glass again; the dangerous part of the conversation was out in the open now, and it really was good brandy. "I have no faith in what little I know of Dumbledore's plan. I have more faith in the Dark Lord's plan; I do not know if the Order can stop him. I am glad I am not a gambling man; I would not care to wager any sort of coin on the outcome of this throw of the dice."

"And have you no plans of your own?"

"None. Yet."

"Ah." Lucius poured them both another drink. "You always did think in curves. I trust you to act for the best, at least, whatever that turns out to be." He paused. "I fear for Draco. Narcissa told you truly; we both believe that our son is being forced to suicide to punish us. He is no killer... he is not like we were."

"He grew up in a kinder world," Severus agreed quietly. "I fear for him as well, Lucius, I cannot deny it. He acts out of fear, for you both and for himself, and his fear blinkers him. His sole hope is the fact that Dumbledore knows what he is up to and has no wish to harm him, but that may not be enough if he moves too soon." He sighed and took another mouthful of brandy, savouring the warmth of it down his throat. "He no longer trusts me. He blames me for your downfall."

"I know. I have tried to talk to him. Oh, it is hard, Severus, watching your child make mistakes. I never wanted this for him." He hesitated, turning away from the fire to look at him directly. "What would you advise, old friend? Knowing what you know, and thinking as you do?"

"That you invest in a Time-Turner," Severus advised him dryly, shaking his head and smiling a little. "Look at me, Lucius. You would truly take my advice?"

"Yes." Lucius smiled back at him, raising an eyebrow. "I certainly don't trust you to take care of your own skin, but... you and I, we have been friends for a long time. There is a reason I chose you as Draco's godfather, rather than one of my more socially acceptable, better connected friends. What do you suggest?"

Severus swirled the last of the brandy in his glass, turning to look into the flickering flames. "Do nothing," he said finally. "Hold to your course. The Dark Lord does not have so many trusted servants that he can afford to spend you easily; it is why he is using Draco. You are valuable to him still. However things play out... I believe you, your wife and your son will survive this," he said slowly. "I will do what I can to that end, with what cards have been dealt me, although I have a poor hand to work with. After this round has been played out... we shall see."

They fell silent for a little while, thinking over their conversation; even though they were temporarily alone in the manor, and as safe as they ever would be, neither man even considered speaking plainly. For one, Slytherins didn't do that. For another, to say it openly would make it too real, too inevitable, and make it much harder to change later.

Finally Lucius said quietly, "The world is changing. We were fighting to hold on to the old ways, once. I am not sure what we are fighting for now, but the world is changing. I wonder... will there be a place for my family in a new world?"

"Perhaps," Severus allowed softly. "I doubt I will survive to see it, regardless of who wins, but... I think there may be a way. Hold your ground, Lucius. While there's life, there's hope, or so they say."

Abruptly Lucius grinned at him, the years falling away until he looked strikingly like the charismatic teenager who had been the Slytherin prefect when Severus had arrived at Hogwarts. "_You _have the audacity to lecture anyone on optimism, Severus?"

He started to laugh. "You did say the world was changing."

"Changing, not ending."

The two of them shared another laugh, as though they were simply old school friends enjoying a quiet drink together, as though they hadn't been sitting and discussing treason.

* * *

><p>On her way out of the dungeons following their morning run a few days later, Hermione was halted by Snape's crisp voice close enough behind her to scare the living daylights out of her. "Miss Granger. A word. Now, if you please."<p>

Swallowing to recover from her near heart attack, she turned to look at him curiously. "Yes, sir?"

He gave her a penetrating stare, his gaze expressionless but nonetheless intent. "I believe you have something of mine."

"Sir?"

His dark eyes sharpened. "I have warned you about sounding like an idiot. You know exactly what I am talking about." Slowly he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a soft, silken whisper. "Where is the book, Miss Granger?"

Hermione eyed him warily, trying to judge how angry he was as her mind raced in an attempt to find a way out of this. It didn't take her very long to realise that there wasn't one, and she sighed, looking at the floor. "In my bag in my dormitory, sir," she said quietly. "How... how did you know I had it?"

"I don't owe you an explanation," he replied curtly, "but if you must know, Professor Slughorn has been raving about some of his more promising students and had a number of complimentary things to say about you and your innovative techniques."

"I don't understand, sir."

"I have taught you for five years, Miss Granger. You aren't innovative in Potions lessons. You are far too cautious to experiment and have never once deviated from the written instructions. If you were doing something different, it was only because someone else you were used to obeying had written it down."

His tone made her hackles rise, but he had a point. Reluctantly Hermione nodded. He regarded her stonily for a moment before looking away. "How do you come to have that book?"

"Harry and Ron didn't have Potions textbooks for this year," she explained softly, "because they didn't think they would be able to take the NEWT class. There were only two spare copies in the cupboard, and one of them was this. I took it off Harry because he was complaining about not being able to read it properly, and when I saw some of the things written in there I looked for the name..." She shrugged uneasily and trailed off, watching him uncertainly.

He glanced briefly at her once more, his eyes hard. "Why did you not return it to its owner?"

"It was in the bottom of a cupboard," she said defensively, "so I assumed it wasn't wanted. And – the things in it – I... just wanted to do well in Potions," she added quietly. She wanted to examine some of the things the teenaged Snape had written, as well, but the Potions lore was the main attraction; even as a boy, he had known so much...

Snape transferred his piercing stare to the wall for a few minutes, apparently thinking. "Have you tried any of the spells in the book?" he asked finally.

She considered lying and decided that there was no point; she wouldn't put it past him to use Legilimency on her if he thought she wasn't being honest, and never mind that it wasn't allowed to do so against a student. "A couple."

"Which ones?" he asked crisply.

Hermione tried not to squirm. "Um. Harry found out what Levicorpus does, he tried it on Ron last week..." The boys' description of the event had made her laugh, a little, even though she still remembered too vividly seeing the spell being used to torment those helpless Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup; it had been a real jolt to learn that Snape had invented it, especially since Harry had seen it being used against him in a memory. "And we've been using Muffliato a few times," she admitted.

Snape worked his jaw for a moment, scowling at nothing again, before sighing. "I see."

"...Are you angry, sir?" she dared to ask him uncertainly.

He looked back at her. "Yes," he replied bluntly, his black eyes hard. "But not with you, at least not entirely. I should have destroyed it years ago, or at least taken more care with it." He returned his stare to the wall.

"I'll bring it to Defence later," she mumbled reluctantly. Snape didn't reply at first, apparently very deep in thought; he didn't look particularly happy with whatever he was thinking, biting his lip slightly and frowning, but he didn't seem particularly angered, which was surprising.

"Against my better judgement, I am willing to let you continue using that book," he said slowly at last, "with certain conditions."

Hermione stared at him; she hadn't been expecting that, and couldn't help wondering why.

"Firstly, that you tell nobody else of it and do not allow anyone else to even see it, nor do you tell anyone else who the – the Half-Blood Prince was." There was some sort of emotion in his voice as he spoke the nickname, but she couldn't tell what it was.

"Yes, sir," she agreed promptly. As if she had needed to be told that.

"Secondly, that you do not try any further spells – or allow your brainless friends to do so – without checking with me first. Some of them are... dangerous."

She swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Thirdly, don't follow my version in class; stick to the textbook."

"I don't understand, sir."

He gave her a penetrating stare. "Don't draw attention to yourself. You have enough enemies already, Miss Granger. Keep your head down. Your intelligence is already perceived in certain quarters as a threat; do not make it worse." For a moment the hard edge in his eyes relaxed fractionally, and he added in a marginally more human tone, "Besides, Professor Slughorn will never leave you alone if you turn into a prodigy overnight."

She grimaced in acknowledgement of the point – much as she continually strove for her teachers' approval, Slughorn's mercenary attitude turned her stomach. "Yes, sir."

"And finally, if I catch any of you using Muffliato in my classes I will make all three of you very sorry."

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a smile, relaxing a little. "Yes, sir."

He stared at her with an unreadable expression before turning away. "Do not make me regret this."

* * *

><p>It was the middle of October when things took a far more serious turn. Severus could have strangled his godson for the stupid stunt with the necklace. He'd recognised it instantly, because it had been in Borgin &amp; Burkes for years because nobody else was thick enough to buy it. Borgin had tried to convince him to buy it several times before giving up on him. He didn't know what Draco had been thinking; Dumbledore might have made one mistake with cursed jewellery, but he certainly wouldn't make two, and any experienced wizard could recognise that the pretty opal necklace was very nasty indeed. The stupid boy was still refusing to speak to him, though, and he couldn't exactly stalk into the Slytherin common room and drag him out by the scruff without a few questions being asked.<p>

It had been quite a long day, what with one thing and another. The curse that had hit Katie Bell wasn't all that dissimilar to the one Dumbledore already had eating at him, so fortunately for the girl Severus had a few helpful potions in stock already; otherwise it was doubtful she would have survived long enough to be transferred to St Mungo's. It was evening now, and late enough that he knew he wouldn't be Summoned tonight – that would come; word of Draco's failure would trickle back to the Dark Lord and his merry band of followers soon enough, and Severus suspected he would take the blame for it. The goodwill he had bought from his master with the damned Unbreakable Vow wasn't going to last much longer. He was whiling away the time marking essays now, having managed to neutralise the necklace. The curse was still there, but dormant, so he'd shoved the thing into a box for now. Dumbledore would probably want it later. He'd already removed the residue of Draco's magic from it.

There was a tap at his office door. Before he could tell whoever it was to come in, or to shove off and leave him alone, the door opened, which meant it wasn't a student. He had been half-expecting Granger, actually, or perhaps Dumbledore if he was back from wherever he had gone, but it turned out to be Minerva, which was interesting – they didn't often visit one another. It was clearly too much to hope for that she was just here to play chess; her expression was grim. Putting his quill down, Severus leaned back and gave her an ironic glance. "Whatever the students have done now, I don't want to hear about it."

"It's not that. I just want to talk to you."

Troubled by the slightly odd tone in her voice, he eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment before shrugging and pushing the other chair towards her with his foot, wandlessly and non-verbally closing the door behind her as she came to sit down. "Drink?" he offered, mostly out of reflex.

"Not the foul stuff you drink, no," she retorted automatically, sounding more like her usual self for a moment before it faded and she regarded him seriously, searching his face. "Severus... what's happening?"

"Would you care to be more specific? Lots of things are happening."

"Don't be flippant. This is important."

He sighed. "Fine, but you're still going to have to be more specific. What do you want to know?"

"What happened today? That necklace... you know as well as I that it wasn't aimed at Miss Bell. She was supposed to bring it to someone else – to Albus."

"She was, yes," he confirmed, wincing inwardly as he started to see the eventual shape of this conversation. It wasn't going to be pretty. He knew his colleague didn't know what was really happening, and he couldn't possibly tell her.

"Who was behind it?"

"How should I know?" he countered.

"Severus, don't treat me as though I'm senile, please," she told him crisply. "I'm not in my dotage yet and I know you know what's going on. Now, Mr Potter and his friends are convinced that young Mr Malfoy is behind it..."

"Of course they are. They were _convinced _he was the Heir of Slytherin, too. They were also _convinced _that I was after the Philosopher's Stone, if you recall," he added acidly. That still hurt. He was pretty sure Minerva had almost believed it herself, too, and she couldn't quite meet his eyes now.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. I know how deep their feud goes. I cannot believe Mr Malfoy is an assassin, but _someone _was responsible."

"Obviously," he drawled mockingly.

"Enough," she snapped. "Tell me what's going on. I know you and Albus are involved in something that the rest of us don't know about. He refuses to say anything; he simply smiles and tells me I will find out in due time."

_Of course he does, _Severus thought bitterly. Dumbledore wanted it to be a lovely surprise for everyone. They were all going to hate him for the rest of his admittedly short life afterwards. He still hadn't worked out how that was supposed to help anyone, and had by now concluded that it was just because Dumbledore liked making him suffer. There was simply no other reason for his refusing to tell anyone else what he had planned. He shrugged as Minerva gave him a hard look.

"That's not good enough. Whatever it is, I know it's important and I'm sure I am going to need to know before it happens."

"If he won't tell you, Minerva, then he won't tell you. It's not up to me to say anything," he said wearily. "It doesn't involve you anyway. It's a private matter between him and me."

She studied him for a while, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered; he knew she couldn't read anything in his face, but she had known him a long time. "How bad is it, Severus?" she asked finally in a slightly softer voice. "I want to help. You look..." She trailed off.

For a brief moment he was tempted to tell her, as he felt again the crushing weight of all the things he was burdened with and trying to ignore. If even one other person knew, it might ease the pressure on him a little. It was an optimistic little thought, and it quickly died a painful death in unfamiliar waters as he slowly shook his head; it would do no such thing. He doubted Minerva would believe him, and if she did, she would be utterly horrified. He didn't need to give anyone another reason to see him as a monster, and there was absolutely nothing she could do except to make him feel worse about it all.

"Oh, now you want to help me? Where were you when I really needed help? When I was a teenager, when nobody gave a damn whether I was dead or alive, let alone whether I was happy or not?" he asked venomously. He had intended just to put her off, but an old hurt somewhere deep had just started bleeding again, and he had been repressing his anger too much recently. "All right, so I wasn't in golden Gryffindor, but you're Deputy Headmistress and you have a responsibility to _all _the students, not just the ones who wear red and gold. You've never shown the slightest interest in helping me before, so why start now?"

"Severus!" she protested, looking somewhat taken aback as the words started to pour out of him.

"No," he hissed. "You know I'm right. You're the one who found me bleeding to death from self-inflicted wounds and you still never lifted a finger to help me. I had to survive on my own without help from anyone then, and I can do it again now. Dumbledore still doesn't trust me as far as he can kick me, but he doesn't have to tell you everything he orders me to do. You'll all find out when it happens. Until then, it's my business and I would appreciate it if you'd keep your nose out; stop interfering."

Minerva stared at him for some time before standing wordlessly and letting herself out. Severus stared at the door as it closed unnecessarily firmly behind her, and sighed as the adrenaline eased and the pain faded from wrenching sharpness to the familiar dull ache once more.

"That was clever," Phineas drawled from the wall. "You don't have so many friends that you can afford to alienate them, you know."

"I think murdering Dumbledore will alienate everyone quite quickly, somehow," he replied irritably, annoyed with himself; he hadn't meant to go that far. He never did. _Damn my pride and damn my temper. _What was the point of raking up all those old grievances now, when it wouldn't change anything?"What difference does it make if it happens now or next year?"

"You should talk to someone about this, Severus, or you'll go mad. Perhaps –"

"Don't even think of it," he snarled, glaring up at the portrait. "I meant what I said in the summer. You're bound not to tell anyone what happens in the Headmaster's office and if you try and find a loophole in that, if you try and tell _her _or anyone else what's going on, I will make your existence very, very unpleasant. Portraits can be made to feel pain, with the right spells, and you know I'll do it if you make me."

"Fine, be that way, but you need help."

"And there is none to be had. So shut up and leave me alone."

* * *

><p>The night after Harry's second meeting with Dumbledore and their second trip into memories of Voldemort's origins, Hermione was woken by Dilys again. "There's no emergency yet," the portrait reassured her quietly, "but Poppy has work to do elsewhere for a couple of hours, and Severus is out. We're about due for another bad time, so she wants you to wait in the infirmary in case he returns and needs help."<p>

Stifling a yawn, Hermione gave the portrait a withering look. "If you're testing me, you could just say so," she said grumpily, "instead of getting me to lie to Professor Snape when he's tired and in pain."

Entirely unrepentant, the older witch grinned at her. "Clever girl. Yes, fine, this is a test of sorts – we want to see how you manage by yourself. Obviously, if it's something really bad, I'll get Poppy to come back and deal with it, but otherwise you'll be on your own. You won't even see me watching."

"Is it likely to be bad?" she asked, pulling her school robe on over her pyjamas and checking her watch; it was just past midnight. "He's late..."

"We won't know until he comes back. I'll see you up there."

"Do you have any advice?" she asked, not comfortable with this. Interacting with Snape in the early mornings when they simply ran side by side in companionable silence was one thing, as was enduring his lessons both curricular and extra-curricular, but Snape alone and in pain was still something of an unknown quantity – it seemed to be different every time – and he wasn't going to be happy about this.

"Don't let him be an idiot. Inside the hospital wing, you are not his student; in Poppy's absence, you're his Healer. Don't stand for any nonsense. Stun him if you have to."

"No thank you. I choose life." She'd done that to him once before; even if it had been an accident, she knew it had been a miracle that she'd got away with it, and she doubted she would be that lucky again.

She passed an anxious hour in the hospital wing in silence, reading and fidgeting and seriously missing her cat's comforting presence, before she finally heard footsteps in the distance and put her book down, looking at the door. The steps were slow and irregular, which surely meant that it was indeed Snape.

It was. He pushed the door open slowly, half leaning on it, and stared rather blankly at her for a few moments before his eyes narrowed slightly and he looked at Dilys' suspiciously empty frame. He looked back at her with a vaguely accusing expression, and Hermione shrugged apologetically, standing up and resisting the urge to fidget under his stare. "It wasn't my idea, sir. How bad is it tonight?"

Snape regarded her expressionlessly for a moment, then turned; Hermione drew her wand and shut the door before he could leave, and he turned back to glare at her warningly, his jaw tightening. Bracing herself, Hermione ignored his angry eyes and studied him, noting that his weight was all to one side and that his hands were shaking. He was paler than usual and his jaw was clenched, but there was no sign of blood. "I am more than capable of treating the Cruciatus by now, sir," she told him far more firmly than she felt, a little troubled by his silence.

He continued to stare at her somewhat glassily, seeming to have trouble focusing his eyes, without speaking; she was close enough now to hear his somewhat erratic breathing, and when he finally took a step forward he swayed for a moment before slowly limping past her to sink down and sit on the edge of the closest bed, visibly shaking. Growing worried now, Hermione knelt to unlace his boots, since clearly he couldn't do it himself this time. "What number, sir?"

Snape didn't answer immediately; she had removed his boots and tugged his robe off his shoulders and was starting to undo one sleeve of his coat before he finally replied, and his voice was a hoarse rasp. "...Nine, I think," he whispered, and she could hear in his voice that he was trying very hard not to scream.

Hermione sank her teeth into her lower lip; she'd never heard him admit to anything higher than seven and a half, and that had been the night he had half-crushed her hand and gone into a seizure. Even if he had been lying about the severity on that occasion, this was more than she had ever witnessed before. Standing this close to him, she could feel the tension humming through him as he held himself together, stubbornly refusing to give in even though his whole body was racked with tremors. Concentrating on what she was doing, she got his coat undone and helped him out of it before he tried to lie back slowly and ended up near enough collapsing onto his back; he was starting to breathe heavily through clenched teeth now as he closed his eyes.

Picking up her wand again, she cast one of the neurological diagnostic charms that Madam Pomfrey had taught her, and stared in dismay as his nervous system lit up like a Christmas tree. She had no idea how he wasn't screaming; anyone else would be unconscious, but he had only just begun to break a sweat. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath and set to work, focusing intently on what she was doing and using everything he had ever taught her about Occlumency to push her emotions away and bury her feelings behind her mental fog.

Snape's control was beginning to slip; he started to twitch and jerk a little as she worked, his breathing growing heavier, before he finally started to make small pained sounds – strangled noises that were clearly against his will, as his breath caught and stuttered and he started to shake in earnest. Trying to stay calm, Hermione kept working, casting the charms over and over again, battling to stabilise his abused nerves and suppress the impulses. She wanted to talk to him, to try and distract them both, but she couldn't think of a damned thing to say; the best she could do was to look at his face occasionally to let him know that she wasn't ignoring him and to rest her free hand gently on his wrist, ostensibly to monitor his pulse. He flinched when she first touched him, but made no move to pull away, so she left her fingers resting on his arm and carried on.

His shaking grew worse as she worked, pausing every so often – to wipe the sweat from his face, to give him small sips of water, to undo his cuffs and the first couple of buttons of his shirt. He kept his eyes closed and his teeth clenched, but he couldn't stop the small sounds of pain escaping, as his fingers clawed at the bed underneath him, before his back arched and he whimpered, "Oh, God..." in a voice that wasn't much more than a broken rasp.

Blinking rapidly to disperse the threat of tears – crying wouldn't help him, and she needed to be able to see what she was doing – Hermione traced her fingers over his wrist to his palm and gently gripped his hand, focusing on the movements of her wand in her other hand. He tried to let go; she appreciated the gesture, since he clearly wasn't in any fit state to be careful of hurting her, but she refused to let him, and a moment later his hand tightened on hers as he groaned softly.

Squeezing his hand gently, she said quietly, without looking at him, "If you feel a seizure coming, I know how to deal with that, as well." She'd never had to before, and had only ever witnessed it that once – although Madam Pomfrey was sure it had happened on at least one other occasion, down in the dungeons by himself – but she at least knew the theory and he'd be in no state to notice her reaction.

"No," he whispered in response, although she wasn't sure if that meant he wasn't going to have a seizure or if he was simply denying it. The rusty sound of his voice was horrible; she had a nasty suspicion that he had screamed himself hoarse already, and she shuddered to think how he had managed to drag himself all the way up the drive and through the castle to the hospital wing in this condition.

"Why?" she asked finally, unable to stand it any more. "What could you possibly have done that deserves this?"

"Not me," he rasped, swallowing painfully, gasping and shuddering before continuing. "Someone else. Whipping boy."

Hermione processed that, ignoring the pain in her hand as his grip tightened even more. He'd taken someone else's punishment... Harry was certain that Malfoy was a Death Eater, and if he really had been behind the cursed necklace, then maybe... well, whatever was going on, she wasn't going to ask. It wasn't up to her, or Harry, or anyone else to sort it out; Snape knew what he was doing, and presumably so did Professor Dumbledore, and that was all there was to it.

He hissed in pain, his fingers digging in; never mind bruises, if this kept on he was likely to break a few of the delicate little bones in her hand, but she didn't try to stop him. If he could go through this, she could put up with a painful hand, especially since she could easily heal it later. "Isn't there a better way to treat this?" she asked helplessly; these charms would work, but very slowly. It would likely be at least an hour before it eased, and he'd be in pain for days yet.

"No," he informed her in a voice that was nearly a whimper.

"Then you should make one."

Snape tried to laugh. In his current condition, it sounded absolutely horrific, and ended in a gasp of pain as he crushed her hand again. "Can't really... study it right now," he pointed out hoarsely.

Well, that was certainly true. And, thinking about it, he was unlikely to ever have free time to study it, since it wasn't likely he would survive the war... Trying to put that thought out of her mind, she squeezed his hand again and returned to the fight against his own nervous system.

"Talk to me, Granger," he rasped a few minutes later, a request she'd never heard him make before.

"What about, sir?"

"_Anything_," he hissed, shuddering.

For a moment Hermione's mind went blank, before she grinned suddenly and started talking about her Potions homework, drawing another painful attempt at a laugh from him as she launched into her most recent essay. It helped to distract her from the crushing hold on her hand, or the low sounds he was making under his breath, or the occasional strangled curse – he really did have a shockingly varied obscene vocabulary; she'd learned a few new words from him over the past year.

"Must be... a pleasant change," he managed at one point.

"Actually, I think I prefer your marking methods," she replied ruefully, looking at him; his dark eyes were open now, if slightly glazed and filled with pain. "I get the impression that Professor Slughorn doesn't always read everything I write..."

"And you think I did?" he rasped mockingly.

"Of course you did," she retorted. "You were looking for excuses to take points off."

He coughed painfully. "True."

That was the last contribution he made to the conversation, and she completely lost track of time as she worked and talked and tried to ignore his pain. She had no idea how long it was before his grip slackened and he passed into unconsciousness, but she was growing hoarse and had talked her way through several years of schoolwork from more than one subject. Retrieving her now really painful hand, she ran through the charms a few more times before stopping and wiping her face on her sleeve. _That's about all I can do. _Stiffly she stood up, working the kinks out of her back, and checked her watch; almost half past three. _Brilliant. _Still, she could lie in a bit in the morning; she doubted he was in any condition for their usual morning run.

Hermione examined her hand; it was a little swollen, and the pain when she moved her fingers left her pretty sure that a couple of bones were indeed broken. "_Episkey,_" she murmured, running her wand over the worst spots, and wiggled her fingers again as the spell took effect; satisfied, she turned back to the unconscious man on the bed. There wasn't much else she could do for him, but she gently cleaned the sweat from his face and cast a couple of diagnostics to make sure there were no other injuries he hadn't told her about before finding a spare blanket to lay over him – unconscious or not, he was still shivering. Padding into the store cupboard, she hunted out a painkiller and something for his throat and left them beside the bed before turning and staring expectantly at the suspiciously empty picture frame on the wall.

Dilys showed herself, for once not smiling. "You did very well indeed, Hermione. Well done."

"It wasn't enough," she replied quietly. "There should be something else we can do for him."

"It _is _enough," Dilys corrected her softly. "It's more than anyone else manages to do for him. Don't belittle this, Hermione. It's not a complete solution, but you've done something good tonight. He'll never be able to tell you, but I'm sure he appreciates it, and he certainly needs it."

"Have you heard him admit to nine before?"

Dilys stared down from her frame at Snape's unconscious figure. "Once, we saw ten," she said quietly. "In the first war, shortly before it ended. He was too badly hurt to say anything at the time, but afterwards he admitted it was ten. It's the worst thing I have ever seen... he had been virtually torn apart. I don't have words for some of the things that were done to him; he almost died."

"Why does he do this? I almost asked him tonight, but he couldn't have answered me even if he'd wanted to, and to be honest I'm a bit afraid of the answer."

"There's more than one answer to that question. Nobody's simple, and Severus is more complex than almost anyone else you'll ever meet. He has a lot of reasons for acting as he does."

"He's going to get himself killed."

"Trust him, Hermione. He knows what he's doing. If he does get himself killed, it will be because that's the only way to achieve our goals. I know you've realised just how little he values his life, but he won't throw it away lightly, I promise you that. You know better than almost anyone else just how strong Severus really is; if anyone can survive this mess, he can." The portrait added more lightly, "And if he comes around and hears you fussing over him, he'll be furious. Since he can't say it at the moment, I'll say it for him; stop being such a bleeding-heart Gryffindor and go to bed."

Hermione stifled a laugh, exhausted and close to tears. "That didn't sound anything like him."

"Well, I don't have his gift for sarcasm, or his remarkable voice. I mean it, though, Hermione. Stop worrying about him, and go and get some sleep. He'll be fine, and you've done very well tonight."

She made her way through the corridors in a thoughtful frame of mind, musing that there had to be something else that could be done for him. Something small, something so obvious that she was overlooking it but that would simply make him feel better. Maybe something to help stop him shivering? That was starting to grow more noticeable now. Cooling charms helped with the attacks on his nervous system but they had to be their own type of pain for someone whose circulation was failing, as his was; his skin was noticeably cool to the touch now. There had to be something that could warm him a little, whether physically or psychologically... it was worth thinking about.

* * *

><p><em>See, that birthday present was just another lesson in confidence. Nothing sweet about it at all. Honest. Ahem.<br>_


	19. Chapter 19

__Get your minds out of the gutter, all of you! Poor Hermione wasn't thinking anything like that about ways to help him feel warmer! Honestly. You should all be ashamed of yourselves :P__

* * *

><p><strong>"The most common lie is that which one lies to himself; lying to others is relatively an exception."<strong>  
>– Friedrich Nietzsche.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione didn't see much of Snape for two days after that, since she didn't have Defence the next day; he seemed all right when she saw him at meals, as far as she could tell, but given that he was such a good actor that didn't really say much. The following morning she showed up at the dungeons as usual and found him waiting for her as though nothing had happened, but he wasn't running as fast as he usually did and some of his normal grace was missing; he was moving less fluidly, holding himself a little stiffly, and although it wasn't really possible to run with a limp he was pretty close to it.<p>

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked afterwards as they headed back inside.

He gave her a sharp glance before nodding slowly. "Recovering." After a pause he added somewhat awkwardly, "You did well."

"Thank you, sir, but that's not why I was asking," she replied with a shrug. "The charms are simple enough, although I wish they worked better."

"So do I, believe me," he muttered. "They were more effective once. They don't work as well these days."

"How can you develop a resistance to that sort of charm?" she asked interestedly.

"It's not a resistance, really, simply that my nerves do not heal as well as they used to." He gave her a sarcastic smile. "I'm getting old."

"Of course, sir," she replied dryly. "Thirty six is pretty ancient."

He snorted and leaned against the wall by the entrance to the passage. "It is the same with any type of healing; you can only Heal the same ailment so many times before it stops working. The body isn't strong enough to endure repeated strain in the same area without time between each injury to recover and regenerate. My nerves are being damaged too often and too quickly, that's all."

_'All', he says. _"Who developed the charms?"

"They aren't specific charms. There is no treatment for long-term Cruciatus exposure, simply because nobody is supposed to be repeatedly cursed with it. Usually, someone is tortured, then they are either released – or escape – or they die. Only the Death Eaters are ever regularly exposed to it."

"Are you cursed more than the others, sir?"

"I don't know. Among the inner circle, most punishments aren't public. I believe I am punished through the Cruciatus rather than through... other means... more than the others, for a variety of reasons."

His expression warned her not to push further, not that she'd needed the warning. "I see, sir. Sir?"

Snape sighed a little theatrically and made a show of rubbing his eyes. "Must we really play Twenty Questions, Miss Granger?"

"Sorry, sir. I only meant to ask if you were all right. Then you mentioned that the charms didn't work so well any more, and I got sidetracked. I promise, only one more question." _At least for this morning._

"Yes, and somewhere in St Mungo's there's a crazy anorexic purple-eyed dwarf who thinks she's my twin sister," he retorted sarcastically, although he didn't seem terribly annoyed. "Go on, then."

"What does the Cruciatus feel like?" He gave her a blank look, and she elaborated. "Not the actual curse, sir. I'm pretty sure I can guess what that feels like."

"I'm pretty sure you can't," he muttered.

"Well, maybe not, but anyway, that's not what I meant. I meant the after-effects."

He scratched his jaw, his dark eyes turning distant as he thought about it. "For the first few hours afterwards, it just hurts," he said finally. "Nowhere near as acutely as during the actual curse, of course, but it's the same sort of pain. That lasts for a varying length of time, depending on the severity of the curse. Usually by the time I wake up the next day, the pain has changed, and it feels something like pins and needles, only not concentrated in any one area. It still hurts, but it isn't as painful. The day after that... it's more of an ache than anything, as though I've spent all day digging in the sun or something, and a deep fatigue. It wears off gradually after that, although I might have a lingering ache in my back and joints for anything up to a week, as I imagine I will this time."

"All that from one curse?" she asked a little sadly.

"Most of the aches come from damage done while thrashing around during the curse, rather than the curse itself," he said distantly. "It's not exactly well studied. As I said, very few people are ever exposed to it more than once or twice."

"What will it do to you in the long term, sir?"

"I thought there was only going to be one more question," he replied mockingly.

"Sir," Hermione protested.

He snorted. "I don't know. It's as simple as that. Now be off with you before you think of anything else to pester me about."

She sighed, trying not to smile. "Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>That evening Hermione warded her bed curtains to prevent her dorm mates overhearing anything and settled in to talk to Dilys; she was tired and it was getting cold and she simply couldn't be bothered to go all the way to the hospital wing just for a chat when she had a picture frame over her bed.<p>

"What's on your mind, my dear?" the portrait asked cheerfully.

"Lots of things, as usual," she admitted wryly. "Has Professor Snape been Summoned this evening, by the way?"

"No. He's fine, as far as I know; Phineas usually watches him in the evenings if there isn't anything interesting going on in the Headmaster's office. He's probably just working. Was he what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well, partly, I suppose. I asked him this morning about the treatments we use for his nerves and he said there was no specific treatment for the Cruciatus, but... well, he must have known for a long time that this would happen to him when You-Know-Who finally came back. Why hasn't he tried to work something out before? He had what, fifteen years between wars?"

"Hmm." The older witch looked thoughtful. "I don't think he imagined it would be this bad, mostly. Whatever he says, he is going through far more this time than he did before. You-Know-Who is very different, I believe, although naturally Severus won't say anything about it. Besides," she added dryly, "he has done other things between wars. It hasn't all just been sitting waiting for it to start up again, you know. And I know you know, because you've read some of his research before. As ever with Severus, personal matters don't rank as highly as other things. Still, I think if he had known what it would be like this time he would have worked on it."

"I considered trying to find something new myself, but I wouldn't even know where to start," Hermione said helplessly. "We've never been taught to create anything original from scratch."

"It's not really something that can be taught," Dilys said gently. "You either have a knack for it, or you don't. Severus does, but I'm not sure if you do. You are still very young, Hermione, of age or not. Don't feel ashamed of not being able to do everything. You do ask far too much of yourself sometimes, and you've spent enough time with Severus by now to know how badly that can turn out. You are helping him, far more than you realise. That's going to have to be good enough, at least for now. If you think of something else to do, then that's wonderful, but don't beat yourself up if you can't."

"I'm not sure I should be trusting your advice," she retorted, smiling a little. "Everything you made me try before hasn't exactly done much."

"Oh, really. You're going to tell me it's made no difference at all, are you?"

"Well, all right, my hair does seem to be getting a little bit easier to manage," Hermione conceded. "But I don't think the rest has really done anything. Nobody's noticed."

"That wasn't the point," Dilys rebuked her gently. "I told you at the time that most people wouldn't – and do bear in mind that you are surrounded by self-obsessed teenagers who don't notice anything except their own reflections most of the time. It has made a difference to you, Hermione, even if you don't think so. Your attitude is changing, you know; you are becoming more confident, which was the whole point. And some people _have_ noticed; it was mentioned in the staff room only last week, actually."

"Really?" she asked, startled. "Er... why?"

Dilys grinned at her. "Because, my dear, teachers _love _to gossip. You would be absolutely horrified if you knew how few secrets you or any of your fellow students actually have. Several of your teachers have noticed that you seem to be handling yourself in a more relaxed manner and not trying so hard – no, that's not how I mean it. They've noticed that you're not so fixated on whether or not you're getting it right; you're not checking up on yourself so often."

Hermione thought about this, pensively biting her lip. "Really?"

"Yes. And Severus has noticed a change, too – well, of course he has, nothing gets past that one. He was _very_ curious to find out what I'd done to help you with your confidence."

"Oh, God. You didn't tell him, did you?" She was pretty sure Snape didn't know; he would have mocked her for it by now if he had, surely.

"No. It's good for him to be kept in the dark occasionally; he's as much of a know-it-all as he's always said you were, you know," the portrait said airily. "Besides, it's a woman's secret and he doesn't need to know."

"I bet he loved hearing that," Hermione said mischievously.

"I've known him for a long time, my dear, and I'm quite used to his sulking by now. Besides, he has a lot of other things on his mind."

"That was one of the other things I wanted to ask about, actually. He seems – not distracted, but I don't really know how to describe it. As though he has something preying on his mind. More than usual, I mean."

"Many things, believe me. Some of them are entirely of his own invention and the man is being almost adorably blind and stubborn about it, but that's a conversation for another day. I do know what you're referring to." Dilys looked awkward. "I can't tell you, Hermione."

"Why? Is it personal?"

"No. I would tell you if I could, trust me, because I really think someone else needs to know, but I can't. The portraits of Hogwarts are bound by certain restrictions and one of those is that we are forbidden to reveal anything said by the Headmaster. All I can tell you is that Professor Dumbledore has given Severus a very, very difficult task and he is struggling with it. I'm not physically able to tell you anything more than that. I can't even give you a hint."

Biting her lip again, Hermione thought about this for a while. "What could possibly be more difficult than everything people ask of him already?" she asked finally.

Dilys shook her head; she wasn't smiling now. "I can't say anything else, Hermione. Nor can Phineas, before you ask him. I wish we could."

"Who else knows?"

"Nobody. Just Severus and Albus, and the portraits who witnessed it."

"Why does everything have to be kept so secret all the time?" Hermione asked exasperatedly. The war would probably have been over quite a bit sooner if the people on either side were willing to _talk _to their own allies, instead of everyone keeping secrets from everyone else. There weren't two sides, more like two dozen. At least.

She had never seen Dilys look angry before, but she saw it now, as the elderly witch said quietly, "This shouldn't be kept so secret. That's half the problem. Believe me, Hermione, I wish it was otherwise. Severus should not be going through this alone, but my hands are tied."

Taken aback by the unusual reaction, she stared up at the portrait, thinking hard. "Would Professor Snape tell me, if I asked?"

"Of course he wouldn't. He's as stubborn as a mule, you know that. And he'd be very angry if he knew I'd told you even this much."

"You haven't told me _anything,_" she protested.

"Everything I am allowed to tell you."

"No, I understand that. I don't blame you. But it's all just so – _unfair_!" Hermione wasn't aware that she was shouting, her voice rising as something snapped. "Everything he does and everything he goes through, and _nobody _knows about it! I hear people talking about him behind his back every day, and it's so hard not to yell at them or – or hex them! I hate remembering that I used to be like that! And even the Order treat him like dirt, and surely they know at least a bit about what he really does? I know he insists on keeping all the details private, and that's really, really stupid, but it shouldn't be like this!"

Running out of air, and now realising just how loudly she had been talking, she shut up hastily. Dilys was laughing, but the look in her eyes wasn't entirely humour.

"Welcome to the problems faced by anyone who foolishly tries to be friends with Severus Snape," the portrait said quietly. "Be glad that he has us, at least, Hermione. It could be even worse, terrible as the thought is."

* * *

><p>A couple of nights later, Hermione was visiting the hospital wing on an errand of her own and nearly walked in on an argument; pausing to listen, she realised that Madam Pomfrey was once again scolding Snape about his drinking, and promptly leaned against the wall and strained to listen. Much as she disapproved of eavesdropping, she had to admit it was sometimes useful. Besides, this was an interesting subject; Snape was the first man she'd ever witnessed with a hangover, no matter how good he was at pretending otherwise, and it did seem to be happening more often – or she was just getting better at spotting it.<p>

"You should know better by now," the nurse was saying.

She heard Snape sigh heavily. "I keep telling you, Poppy, this is none of your business. You don't understand. You think I drink to get drunk, to forget for a while, yes? That's nonsense. I have Occlumency for that, and nobody who survives on their wits as much as I do likes the feeling of something clouding their thoughts. I don't take anything to get intoxicated but for the other effects."

"So what _other effects _does alcohol give you, then?" she asked angrily. "It's a poison, Severus. I know it's not because you like the taste, not the stuff you drink. Alcohol dehydrates you, it makes you even colder than you usually are, and the toxins in it are slowly killing your liver. What benefit could you possibly be getting from doing this to yourself, if you're not trying to get drunk?"

"Illusion," Snape replied shortly.

"What are you talking about? What illusion?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Hermione thought about this as the argument continued; amusing though it was to hear the feared Professor Snape rapidly being reduced to a defensive and sulky boy, this was more important than listening to him squirming. Her experience of alcohol was somewhat limited; since she was quite young she had been allowed small sips of whatever her parents were drinking, mostly wine, and had never been particularly keen, and the only thing she really drank herself was Butterbeer. It wasn't about the sweetness of the drink, since she had learned that Snape tended to drink raw spirits, usually whiskey in one form or another. What other feelings did alcohol create? She thought for a moment longer and understood; _warmth._

The feeling of warmth created by alcohol was certainly an illusion, but there was a certain comforting quality to the warmth that seemed to fill your whole body. For someone like Snape, alone and cold so much of the time... she could understand why he might grow dependent on that feeling. If he had tried to synthesise it, he had obviously failed, but she doubted he had bothered. She had wondered over the summer about the chai tea with alcohol in it; that was presumably the same basic impulse, comfort and warmth.

Given her reason for being here tonight, this was wonderfully ironic, she reflected cheerfully as she tapped at the door and walked in. "I'm sorry for interrupting."

"Hermione? We don't have a lesson tonight. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks. I just wanted to try something. Actually, Professor, if you have time, could you wait a few minutes? It's sort of about you, you see. I won't be long."

She went into Madam Pomfrey's office and raided the store cupboard for what she wanted, before starting to heat the kettle and digging through the nurse's tea things. She could hear Snape asking somewhat accusingly what was going on, and the mediwitch's baffled response, and grinned to herself.

Dilys appeared in the frame over the desk. "Hermione, what are you up to?"

"Problem solving," she replied cheerfully. "I hadn't put it together until just now, but I think I've just guessed one of the reasons why he drinks so much, and I wanted to try this anyway."

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

"No, actually." Carefully twisting to keep herself between the portrait and what she was doing, she carefully broke the stuff into small pieces and put them at the bottom of the mug before adding hot water and studying the results, sniffing the steam critically. He might take his coffee black, but this was going to need milk in it, she decided, carefully adding a little from the nurse's tea supplies; she would have added sugar as well, but he didn't seem to like sweet things much, chai tea notwithstanding. "Could you persuade Madam Pomfrey to leave for a few minutes? I don't think Professor Snape wants her to know what he meant by 'illusion' or he would have explained it."

"Hermione, what's going on?" Dilys sounded frustrated, and Hermione grinned, stirring the thick liquid one last time before deciding that it was as good as it was going to get.

"I'm allowed to be cryptic too, you know." _And I've had some very good teachers._

Snape gave her a look that was part suspicion and part impatience when she emerged from the office, mug in hand. "Miss Granger, what are you doing?"

Ignoring the question, she walked over to the bed where he sat and held out the mug to him. "I'd like you to try this, sir. I think it might help." He was shivering again, she noticed, hardening her resolve. _I hope this works._

"Help with what, precisely?" he asked crisply, with a faint edge of annoyance in his voice that was definitely a warning.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione met his eyes. "Replacing the illusion with something real, I hope, sir."

He blinked first, a little blankness creeping into his eyes as he reflexively shielded, and his brows furrowed slightly in the forerunner of a scowl. "Miss Granger..." he said warningly.

"I only worked that one out about ten minutes ago, sir; I wasn't eavesdropping deliberately. I planned to try this anyway, the next time I saw you here."

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's poison, obviously. I've finally decided to fulfil the fantasies of hundreds of students over the years," she told him tartly. "Can you stop acting like – like _you _for five seconds, please, and just try it? Um... sir," she added, blushing slightly as she realised she'd just started scolding him the way she would one of her friends.

To her relief, if also to her surprise, Snape looked more amused by her attitude than anything else as he reached out and took the mug from her, sniffing it cautiously. Blinking, he looked at her. "Hot chocolate? That's supposed to help?" he asked bitingly. "I'm not six years old, you know."

"It's medical chocolate, sir," she corrected him quietly. It made sense; one of the sensations the Dementors caused was extreme cold, and the enhanced chocolate used as a Healing remedy worked better than the everyday foodstuff because it had been designed to create warmth. It might help, and even if it didn't, it wasn't going to do him any harm.

Snape's contemptuous expression faded to something rather more thoughtful as he looked back at the mug and sniffed it again, before he wrapped his hands around it and sat forward a little, taking a cautious sip. Hermione stood back and watched him expectantly as he swallowed; he had closed his eyes, which wasn't helpful, but she wouldn't have been able to read his expression anyway. _Secretive bastard, _she thought idly, the insult tinged with an odd sort of fondness. She was rewarded when he took another sip, and then a larger mouthful, and sternly resisted the urge to grin as he started drinking it. _Ha!_

By the time he was half way through the mug, he had almost stopped shivering, at least from this distance. He might still be shaky if she was closer to him, but it was a visible improvement, at least. It probably wouldn't last very long, but it was more genuine than the false sensation of warmth generated by alcohol, and this wouldn't damage his health at all – his teeth were already pretty terrible, after all, and he could use all the calories they could force down his throat, and it wouldn't aggravate his stomach ulcer as much as whatever he had been drinking before.

He tilted the mug and drained the last of it, licking his lips, and Hermione gave him a polite smile, trying very hard to keep her voice even and professional. "Was there any improvement, sir?" she inquired.

The question earned her a level look that warned her not to be cheeky, before his black eyes flicked quickly around the room to make sure nobody was eavesdropping and he replied almost too quietly to be heard, "Yes."

Relieved, she smiled at him. "I'm glad."

Snape gave her an odd look that seemed almost troubled, studying her pensively before looking back at the mug. "Thank you," he said uncomfortably in little more than a whisper.

She shrugged. "It's not much, sir. I know it's not actually going to fix the problem. It's just a different illusion, really, but at least Madam Pomfrey won't tell you off for this one." A psychological remedy was a good start, even if it wasn't going to touch the physical issues at the root of the problem.

He snorted into the mug, his eyes glittering for a moment with brief amusement, which was also a good sign, and Hermione allowed herself to feel briefly smug. _Not bad._

* * *

><p>Around Halloween, Hermione found herself with nothing to do on a rainy weekend. She spent some of the morning curled up with the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, trying to see past the scrawled notes to catch a glimpse of what the boy who had written them had been like, but except for more potions and spells there simply wasn't much there. This book was from Snape's sixth year, and by that time he seemed not to have had any friends left.<p>

And some of the things written in here were pretty cryptic, on closer examination. The notes had obviously been written for himself, not for anyone else, so most of the time there was no explanation. The amendments to the Potions methods in the text weren't too bad; she didn't need to understand why he had elected to change parts, and she did feel very pleased with herself each time she did manage to guess. It was the spells that bothered her, especially since he had warned her that some of them were dangerous.

One in particular had caught her attention weeks ago. The incantation was _Sectumsempra _and the only notation with it was 'for enemies', which really didn't bode well. She did have a Latin dictionary... at home, or rather in the storage unit on the industrial estate near her home, where it was doing no good whatsoever. Infuriatingly, the Hogwarts library didn't have one, which seemed shockingly lax given that most spells seemed to be at least derived from Latin. Whatever this spell was, though, it was obviously dangerous and clearly one of the ones he had been thinking of when he had told her not to try anything without asking him.

It was troubling that he had created spells that probably belonged to the Dark Arts, but it didn't bother her as much as she thought it would have done, say, last year. His lecture on learning to think had struck home, and she didn't know what this spell did but even as a moody, lonely, angry teenager she doubted he had created it just for the hell of it. He must have had a reason, and the darkness of the spell surely depended on how and why it was used, more than on what it did...

That was what was most annoying, she decided with a huff of frustration. Every question she had about Snape spawned at least a dozen others, and she still didn't know enough to puzzle out most of the answers despite all her best efforts. It was absolutely infuriating, and only increased her desire to learn more about him. One thing she was slowly becoming increasingly certain of, however, was that he had been in love with Lily Evans – she had been thinking about it on and off since first discovering who Snape's mysterious Gryffindor friend was.

Looking down at book lying open in her lap, Hermione thought about what she knew of the two of them. They had apparently been quite close friends right from the start, somehow, bizarre as it seemed, but had fallen out around the end of fifth year and apparently never been reconciled... She blinked slowly, remembering what Harry had eventually told her about the memory he had seen in Snape's Pensieve during that disastrous Occlumency lesson. Most of Harry's focus had been on what James and Sirius were doing, but he had told her how Lily had stepped in to try and defend Snape, who had then yelled at her and called her a Mudblood. Obviously she couldn't prove it, but Hermione would wager everything she possessed that _that _had been the exact moment when their friendship had ended for good.

Absently biting her lip, she thought about it some more. Her first impulse was to agree with Lily; Mudblood really was a foul name, and it would hurt all the more coming from a friend. It was also a sign that Snape had been well on the way to the Death Eaters, if he had used it. But on the other hand, Harry's description of what the Marauders had been doing to Snape at the time had been quite disturbingly vivid – really, it had actually been a form of sexual assault, now that she seriously thought about it; all right, Harry hadn't seen whether or not they actually had stripped him, but she was dismally certain that they had. Teenage boys did have fragile egos at the best of times; he certainly wouldn't have wanted a girl trying to protect him, even under less extreme circumstances, and by the sound of it he certainly hadn't been in control of what he was saying. She wondered how he had acted afterwards; by all accounts Lily had been his only friend, and he had been young enough that he possibly hadn't been quite such a stubborn bastard. Had he tried to make amends?

Finally she decided that speculation was pointless; she didn't know the full story and it was very, very unlikely that she ever would. Besides, it was none of her business; this was Snape's private life, and he had apparently gone to some lengths to conceal it. Poppy had suspected, but even the nurse didn't know for certain. There was something horribly tragic about it, though; clearly Snape's feelings had been one-sided and hopeless, because if Lily had returned his feelings at all she would have forgiven him eventually no matter what he called her – after all, Hermione reflected sourly, how often had she forgiven Ron for being a bastard? Come to that, how often had she begun to forgive Snape for it, more recently?

She looked down at the book in her lap again before closing it, feeling a little ashamed of herself for digging this far. It was deeply personal and very private, and absolutely none of her business. Laying it aside, she bit her lip again, thoughtfully; this did explain so much, though. The feud with James, the fact that Snape couldn't bear the very sight of Harry half the time – she had often thought that there must be more to the story, and now she had the missing piece of the puzzle.

The big question, of course, was how deep those feelings went. Lily had been dead for fifteen years, which seemed like a very long time to carry a torch for someone who didn't want you, but Snape's emotions regarding Harry seemed very raw. And his life did seem lonely; whether by conscious choice or not, it seemed likely that there had never really been anyone else.

"Well," she whispered quietly at last, shrugging and trying to smile at herself, "I always knew I didn't have much of a chance anyway."

Certainly there was no way she could hope to compete with a dead woman for Snape's apparently very discerning friendship; after all these years her memory would probably have attained a completely unrealistic image of perfection, and Hermione was well aware of all her own flaws. And yet, a nagging voice reminded her, Harry and Ron both seemed to have noticed that something had changed in Snape's attitude towards her – although admittedly both of them were about as perceptive and knowledgeable when it came to emotions as the average goldfish was about cycling.

She shivered as another thought struck her; she was a clever Gryffindor Muggleborn just like Lily had been. Admittedly they looked nothing alike physically, but she suspected that for a man like Snape the physical was probably the least important factor – although it was worth noting that Lily really had been very pretty. It was a little disturbing to find herself wondering whether they had perhaps been alike in other ways; obviously part of her really hoped not, since that was creepy, but another part of her pointed out treacherously that it might increase her chances of befriending him if she was.

God, this had been a bad idea. All it had given her was more questions. Besides, it was Halloween tonight, the anniversary of Lily's death – abruptly Hermione's thoughts ground to a screeching halt. Was that it? Did the reason that Snape had changed sides have something to do with Lily? Okay, it was a bit of a stretch, but in a year of digging into his past as best she could, Lily was the only thing she had discovered that Snape had ever really seemed to care about. Maybe... maybe she had contacted him, somehow talked him out of it? Or... she shook her head and sighed, rubbing her eyes; more questions with no answers. All she had gained for her prying had been a headache.

_Curiosity killed the cat. It might well do the same to the Gryffindor._

* * *

><p>November promised to be an unpleasant month, Hermione decided grimly. For one, the weather had turned truly horrible; usually by now it was snowing, but the month had started with freezing rain and every day was grey and depressing. Despite Slughorn's best efforts, the dungeons were painfully cold, and Potions lessons were torturous; Hermione didn't want to think about how Snape coped, actually living down there all year. She wouldn't be surprised to see ice forming on the walls.<p>

Snape himself seemed relatively all right, as far as she could judge; he was clearly suffering in the cold – Madam Pomfrey had been quite annoyed when he had unceremoniously raided her stores and helped himself to every last scrap of chocolate without explanation, but Hermione had nearly choked trying not to laugh – but apart from that he seemed in reasonable health. The past couple of Summons had apparently ended without incident, and he had finally found time to start teaching her, Harry and Ron a little about fighting.

He seemed satisfied with them learning magical combat by themselves, after a few more mock-duels to let him find out how much they knew; all they really needed on that score was practice, he had said. Physical fighting was apparently going to be more complicated; he had been surprised to find out how little they knew, particularly the boys, and was now not very patiently attempting to talk them through a series of slow-motion fights with a rather unimpressed expression.

Hermione had to admit she wasn't paying much attention. She did know a bit about fighting, but it was girl fighting – you went for the hair first, and then any bit of skin your fingernails could reach. In her experience, boys didn't hit girls, and it seemed the others shared this opinion – somewhat bizarrely including Snape himself – so it was always going to be a bit awkward. At first Snape had paired her off with Harry, but it hadn't worked because they had both started laughing. Snape seemed reluctant to use her as a demonstration, and it was obviously a very bad idea for him and Harry to face one another, so after attempting to use Ron as an example he had admitted defeat and paired her with him to try and get his point across.

It was one of the few times Snape had made a serious mistake, Hermione considered somewhat dispassionately as she faced the redhead. It wasn't their teacher's fault, of course. He couldn't have known about the other day, and bloody Quidditch, and bloody Lavender Brown. She was well aware that she must have looked dreadful this morning, but it wasn't as if he would have been paying attention, and the rain would have made it almost impossible to tell that she had been crying half the night anyway.

It wasn't even the fact that Ron had a girlfriend, not really, although she had to admit that both hurt and left her wanting to hit someone. It was the fact that both of them were apparently determined to rub her nose in it at every opportunity. By now, after this many years, she was used to Ron being an insensitive prat with absolutely no idea of anyone else's feelings, especially hers, and she was also used to him being spiteful for quite often no reason that she could puzzle out, but even by his standards he was being... well, without her exposure to some of Snape's pithier vocabulary over the past couple of years she wouldn't have been able to describe it. And as if that wasn't hurtful and infuriating enough, Lavender had been acting like a complete cow in the dormitory ever since, smug and patronising and far, far too willing to very loudly share the details. Even Parvati had found it a little uncomfortable.

All things considered, Hermione felt she was quite justified in finally losing her temper. Squirming to one side – Snape had commented earlier that the first reaction of any male attempting to win a fight with a female would be to try and use superior weight and strength to win by sheer force, and Ron was proving that now – she glared up at him and jerked her knee up between his legs with as much power as she could manage.

Part of her took a tremendous amount of pleasure in watching his face lose all colour as he made a very odd high pitched sound before collapsing sideways and curling up into a whimpering ball. Harry exclaimed in a shocked voice, "Hermione!" and even Snape winced in male sympathy, although his black eyes were glittering with suppressed laughter as he moved into her field of vision and she sat up.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. Much as I enjoy the sight of Weasley writhing in pain, you don't do _that_ to any man unless you're fighting for your life or your virtue. I don't care how angry you are, or why; there are some things you just don't do. Needless to say, if any of you attempt it on me, you will regret it for the rest of your lives." There was suppressed laughter in his voice as well, and he was smirking as he looked down at Ron.

"Get up, Weasley. You're not dying. Yes, I know it hurts, but believe me, it could have been a lot harder. You're excused for this evening. Go and soak in a cold bath and stop making such a fuss; you probably deserved that."

"You just said it was unjustified," Harry protested from where he knelt by his friend. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and glared at the wall; she was trying to feel ashamed of herself, but she was a bit too angry at the moment.

"If Miss Granger was going to kick either of you on a whim, and I personally would have applauded her if she ever had, it would have happened five years ago," Snape responded tartly. "I imagine she had a reason for doing so tonight. I don't particularly care what that reason is; whatever your problems, you leave them outside during these lessons. I have to deal with far too much teenage angst every day and I find it immensely annoying. How many times must I tell you that your emotions are distractions before you will listen? Weasley, if I were you, I would go and find that cold bath now before it swells too much; walking is only going to become more painful the longer you leave it."

Ron gave them all a furious look – his face had turned an interestingly blotchy mix of red and white – and painfully dragged himself out of the room, hobbling rather dramatically.

"Does it really hurt that much?" Hermione asked distantly, still looking at the wall as she tried to fill her mind with fog and calm down a bit.

"Yes," Snape said frankly, "although he is also being a drama queen. Again."

"Been kicked by a girl before?" Harry muttered, not quite quietly enough. "That's a surprise."

There was a pause while the temperature dropped noticeably. "Would you care to repeat that, Mr Potter?" Snape asked in the cold, silken voice that was a very definite warning.

"Not really, _sir,_" Harry retorted.

Hermione warily looked around. Snape and Harry were facing one another; Harry looked furious, as he so often did these days – he was getting a little better, but not much, and evidently he wasn't even trying to control his temper right now – and Snape looked... oddly thoughtful, actually, if she was any judge. Oh, he looked annoyed, but behind those cold black eyes, wheels had begun to spin.

"Miss Granger, you are also excused for this evening," Snape said distantly, not looking away from Harry and not blinking. "I will discuss tonight with you at another time."

"Sir..." she began hesitantly, and he gave her the look she didn't dare argue with. Most of the time, she knew she was allowed to push her luck with him now, at least a little bit; when he had this expression on his face, though, it wasn't an option. Biting her lip, she nodded, glancing worriedly at Harry, who was looking a bit nervous now. "Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Severus sighed inwardly as the door shut behind her; he had known for some time now that it would come down to this, much as he had hoped otherwise. "Once again, Mr Potter, you seem to have a few problems with your temper," he said softly. "Whatever fight your friends have had this time, it did not involve you, so would you care to tell me why you felt the need to join in and make matters worse?"<p>

He turned and regarded the boy. The sullen, sulky expression made it less painful to meet those bright green eyes, actually; Lily had never looked that petulant, only bloody furious. The sulkiness now was all James, and he felt his lip curling, although he said nothing. Despite popular opinion, Severus did know that Harry Potter was not his father, although he often found it difficult to behave accordingly.

It stung a little to see the nervousness in the boy's face, though. He had never raised a hand to a student in his life; idle threats and half-hearted insults – and in this case a few instances of unfair grades – surely didn't justify genuine fear. Dislike was fine, expected, even desired, but fear?

"Cat got your tongue?" he snapped irritably. "I asked you a question."

He watched the struggle – Potter's every expression was painfully transparent – and realised that the boy didn't even know the answer. Severus well remembered how it felt to be angry at everything; it only made you angrier still if there wasn't a reason for it, because then you became angry with yourself as well as everyone else around you. He had been planning this for a while; speeches and chess games weren't going to get through to this one. He had a different sort of lesson in mind.

"If you persist in this stupidity you're going to get your little friends killed," he said bluntly and unemotionally. "God help them all, but they follow you. Are you going to reward their blind faith by storming headlong into danger again? That worked so well last time, didn't it?"

The reference had been deliberate. At some point he was going to have to make the boy look at Black again, but he wasn't ready to understand it yet. Right now, the only reaction Severus wanted was the one he got, the fury that made the boy look painfully like his mother. Ignoring the sting the memory produced, he sneered, and made it as mocking as he possibly could.

"You're still acting like a child, Potter. I despair when I remember that you are supposed to be coming of age this summer. They call you the _Chosen One _in that rag of a newspaper; I wonder what they would think if they could see you now? A spoiled brat who never stops to think, who throws temper tantrums that would shame a toddler even after being shown what can happen? How many times have your friends trustingly followed you into danger? How many times have you got them hurt?"

"Shut up!"

_Ah, there it is. _Severus swallowed bile; he wasn't enjoying this. _You little fool. I wish you hadn't made this necessary. How the hell can you be turning out like me? Fate is a sick-minded bitch. _The irony was thick enough to choke on.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it, Potter?" he sneered. "You don't have the Order pandering to your whims and indulging you here. Your friends aren't here to hang on your every word. It's just you and me, and I'm not impressed by your scar, and your temper isn't justified or understandable. It's boring, Potter. Very, very boring. More than that, it's going to get people killed, and I for one am not willing to die for a spoiled boy's tantrums, unlike some people, who shall remain lifeless."

"I said shut up!" Potter was screaming now, his face flushed, and Severus felt the hair on the back of his neck stir as magic began to build. He regarded him judiciously and decided that it was the right time to move closer, until they stood mere inches apart, noting with distant irritation that the boy could look him in the eyes and would almost certainly end up taller than he was.

"Is this where you tell me I don't understand?" he asked contemptuously. _I understand you better than you could ever dream of, boy, God help us both. _"Of course, your life has been so much harder than anyone else who has ever lived. You're not the only boy to have been orphaned." Bile burned the back of his throat again. "You're not the only boy who was orphaned because of the Dark Lord. You're not the only one who has lost family and friends in this war. Nobody asked for this, but the rest of us know how to shut up, stop whining and get on with it. How can you still be such a child after everything you've seen? How can you still be this selfish? It's _not _all about _you, _and the sooner you realise it, the lower the death toll will be..."

It happened very quickly. One moment Severus was in the boy's face, using every trick of voice and expression to emphasise the malicious venom of his insults, each one carefully guided with expert precision; the next, his head snapped back with the impact of a blow high on one cheek as a burst of wild and uncontrolled magic splintered against the Shield Charm he had been maintaining for the past ten minutes. Frankly, he was surprised it had taken this long.

Ignoring the sting of a rising bruise, he made himself laugh, mentally steeling himself. "Pathetic," he sneered. "You hit like a girl. No wonder you can't protect your friends –"

The next blow hit him in the mouth; he saw it coming and made himself turn into it rather than away from it, grimacing inwardly as his lip split over his teeth. Potter couldn't throw a punch and had probably done more damage to his hand, but still, this wasn't going to be fun. He really wished he had been able to think of another way to make the boy realise what he was capable of and why he needed to know how to control himself. He turned his head and took the next punch right in his eye, stars exploding in his vision, and grimly let the next one break his nose again. That sound never got any easier to hear.

Over the next few minutes he decided he had gone a little too far when he had set out to provoke Potter into losing his temper properly. The boy was well beyond hysteria and into complete madness, crying so hard that there was no way he could see what he was doing; if Severus hadn't been deliberately allowing each wild blow to land, it was doubtful any of them would have made contact at all. It turned out that on a purely instinctive level, the boy actually did know how to fight; once he really let go, he stopped following the rules, employing fists, knees, elbows, feet and any other body part to try and cause pain. He had forgotten how much it hurt when someone head-butted you squarely in a freshly broken nose.

After what felt like an eternity Severus decided he looked terrible enough to make his point. Moving swiftly, he twisted out from under the younger man and threw him onto his back, hesitating for a moment before slapping him. Once, and once only; he knew that if he did anything more he would regret it for eternity because something in him would snap and he would probably put the boy in a coma. The slap achieved the desired effect; Potter gasped and stopped struggling for a moment.

"Stop, now, or I will make you," Severus told him warningly, although speaking wasn't very easy at the moment and he was in danger of dribbling blood onto the boy's face. A moment's concentration and the temperature in the room plummeted; the shock of the cold drew another gasp as Potter snapped out of it.

"Good. Now look at me." He watched intently as the boy reluctantly did as he was told, and he studied the way those horribly familiar green eyes widened and the pupils contracted before dilating, watching the progress of the slowly dawning horror before Potter flinched and looked away.

"No. Look at me. _Look,_" he growled thickly, keeping one hand tangled in the front of Potter's robe and grabbing the boy's chin with the other hand, forcing his head up. Staring into those bright green eyes from this close a distance hurt, hurt enough that he was glad one eye was swelling closed, but he refused to let himself be distracted. "Remember this, Potter," he rasped. "This is what you are capable of if nobody tries to stop you. Learn to stop yourself." _Before it's too late. _

Painfully, he let go and crawled to one side, standing up and ignoring the way the room spun around him. "I didn't offer violence, Potter. I wasn't fighting back. But you kept going. You've just beaten an unarmed man half unconscious; congratulations. Your father would be very proud."

Crying again – although for a different reason, hopefully – Potter managed something largely incoherent in reply. Making an educated guess at the response, Severus shook his head, and regretted it. "I provoked you? Of course I did. That was the idea. And you fell for it, and you behaved exactly as I wished you to. That means I won the fight, Potter, no matter whose blood is on the floor. You did what I wanted, so I won. If that had been a real fight I could have killed you a dozen times over; I wouldn't even have needed magic."

Potter hadn't tried to get up; sighing, Severus hunkered down stiffly on his heels next to him and regained eye contact. This was the only chance he would get to drive this point home; if he waited even a few hours, the boy wouldn't listen and wouldn't understand. "Anyone you meet in combat will do as I just did. They will insult you and bring up every painful topic they can, hoping to distract you and impair your thinking. The one thing everyone knows about you is that the Dark Lord killed your parents; that is the first thing they will use. And I promise you, my fellow Death Eaters know everything that happened at the Ministry, and that is the second thing they will use. By then, if you don't learn to control yourself, you'll have given them half a dozen other ways of making you so angry that you can't see straight, and then you will find yourself in a great deal of trouble."

He gestured at his face; by the feel of it, he looked a real mess, but that had rather been the point. "Look at this, Potter. This is your anger. This is your darkness. If you think I don't understand how you feel, you're an even bigger fool than I have always said you were. If you can't control your temper, there are two things that may happen. One is that you will get yourself killed, and probably a lot of us with you. But there is something worse. Do you know what that is?"

Very slowly, Potter shook his head, his eyes frightened and numb as shock overtook tears.

Severus regarded him soberly, his voice soft now. "If you can't control yourself, Potter, you will one day say or do something utterly unforgiveable and hurt someone close to you. And believe me, you will never recover from that. Do you remember the first time you accidentally made Miss Granger cry, Potter?" _She does. _Those Occlumency lessons had shown him that, very clearly.

The boy nodded slowly.

"You were only children then, and it was a childish thing. Imagine how much worse it could be now."

_At bloody last. _Finally, Potter had got the message. Severus suppressed a sigh; he was exhausted, he ached all over and his face really hurt.

"I..." the boy began weakly.

"Don't insult either of us by trying to apologise," he said quietly. "You can't, anyway. It's done, and now you have to live with it. You understand now. Your temper will get you killed, but you do not want to find out the damage you can cause to those around you before that happens. You're dismissed. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will skin you alive and drag you to the Dark Lord myself," he added in something approaching his usual tones. "Go. And remember this lesson, because the next one will be far harsher."

Once the boy had gone, Severus asked the Room of Requirement to provide water, a mirror, and some of his healing stores, and began to slowly and patiently repair the damage. The lesson would have been more effective if his bruises and other injuries could remain as a visible reminder, but that wasn't an option. He just hoped the boy was a faster learner than he had been.

Quietly and methodically cleaning up and healing the injuries one by one, he shook his head and asked the empty room softly, "Ah, Lily, what would you think if you'd seen this? How the hell can your son by James be turning out so much like me?" Painfully, he rasped a laugh, because it was that or cry.

* * *

><p><em>One person did actually guess hot chocolate. Well done! And aren't teenage hormones so much fun?<br>_


	20. Chapter 20

__Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers. This chapter is going to be fun...  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong>"And it feels like jealousy<br>And it feels like I can't breathe..."**  
>– Will Young, 'Jealousy'.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione approached the dungeons next morning in some trepidation. She had no idea what had happened between Snape and Harry last night; it had been a long time before her friend had come back to the by-then deserted common room, and he had obviously been crying – hard – and seemed very shaken and scared, but he wouldn't tell her anything. All he had said was that Snape hadn't hurt him, but he'd been acting so strangely that she honestly wasn't sure she believed him.<p>

Snape looked all right, as far as she could judge, although it was so often hard to tell with him. He didn't seem to be hung over, although he looked like he hadn't slept – that was depressingly quite normal for him. "Good morning, sir," she ventured cautiously, and he responded with his usual grunt of acknowledgement and a vaguely unfocused look.

About half way around their circuit, he asked mildly, "Would you care to tell me what happened last night?"

"Sir?"

"Last night," he repeated, apparently missing the chance to tell her not to sound like an idiot again; he sounded tired, too, but it didn't hide his amusement when he looked at her. "What on earth did Weasley do to deserve that?"

Despite herself, she flushed a little. She hadn't seen Ron since he had left the Room of Requirement and she wasn't looking forward to the first time she did encounter him. He was going to be furious, and although that wasn't exactly unusual – their friendship had never been particularly stable – for once she actually deserved it. She also really didn't want to talk to Snape about Lavender. He was a surprisingly good confidante in many ways, but she knew she would feel really stupid prattling about teenage jealousy and she doubted he would be impressed. She'd worked hard to get him to see her as more than just another annoying student.

"Nothing, sir."

"You kicked him for no reason?" he inquired, arching an eyebrow and smirking as he looked around at her again – it was difficult to have a conversation whilst jogging side by side, but they were getting better at it. "I can understand people being tempted, but it seems rather unlike you, given how much you have accepted from him over the years."

"Don't any of my teachers have anything else to do except gossip?" she asked irritably.

He snorted. "In all honesty, no, most of them do not. However, it hardly takes a genius to spot when a normally inseparable little gang have fallen out with one another."

It was definitely time to change the subject, she decided. Snape would know what she was doing, obviously, but hopefully he would let it drop. "Does it really hurt that much, for a man to be kicked... there?"

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners in a rather wry smile. "Yes, it really does. If questioned about this, I will deny what I am about to say, but should you ever find yourself in a serious fight, do not hesitate to do that again. There isn't a man alive who can continue fighting after that, not if it's done properly. Your ignorant friend is going to be walking rather oddly for the next day or two. Does he have Quidditch practice today?" he asked innocently.

Hermione felt herself blush again. "Um, I think so, actually..."

"I may have to try and watch," he mused, chuckling darkly.

"Can we please not talk about it, sir?" she asked pleadingly.

"You have spent far too much time with Dilys and Madam Pomfrey," he told her dryly. "You are being taught how to deny me any pleasure in life." Snorting softly, he relented. "As you wish. I am satisfied that he deserved it, since you would hardly act in such a fashion without due provocation, so if I were you I wouldn't feel too guilty."

They jogged along in companionable silence for a few minutes before she said hesitantly, "Professor?"

"What now, Granger?" he asked in mocking exasperation. "I do recall telling you last year not to speak to me in the mornings, you know."

"You started it," she retorted, biting her lip for a moment and gathering her courage. "What – what happened between you and Harry after I left, last night?"

"What did he say?" Snape asked neutrally, not looking at her this time and apparently absorbed in staring ahead of them at the muddy trail through the snow in the pre-dawn dimness.

"He couldn't really talk very clearly," Hermione said slowly, watching his face more than her footing. "He'd obviously been crying. All he said was that you hadn't hurt him."

There was a short pause before Snape answered in a rather odd tone of voice. "Do you believe him?"

"Yes and no, sir," she replied honestly. "I don't believe you'd hurt him without a very good reason, no matter what he said or did, not after all this time. But obviously something unpleasant happened, because he really looked upset, and – scared, almost. I don't think I've ever seen him quite like that, although I can't imagine what you would have done to him. I really don't know, sir."

Peculiarly, he relaxed a little at her answer, finally turning his head and meeting her eyes with an unreadable expression. "I did not harm him," he told her quietly and emphatically, before returning his gaze to the path and continuing in something approaching his normal scornful voice. "Although perhaps I should have taken the opportunity. I merely gave him another lesson in the importance of keeping his temper. Hopefully, the lesson will have sunk in this time; I do not intend repeating it."

"I see, sir."

"Answer a question for me, Miss Granger," Snape said distantly after another long pause, as their run drew to a close and they stopped, beginning to slowly warm down and stretch.

"If I can, sir."

"Why, exactly, is Potter suddenly being hailed as a Potions prodigy? Professor Slughorn has been singing his praises for weeks now. You and I both know that Potter is mostly next to useless at Potions and shows no interest in the subject. Even if he could be bothered to pay attention, he would never be top of the class. So I find myself asking why he is suddenly such a shining star."

Hermione tried not to squirm; Snape clearly already knew the answer, so she didn't see why he was forcing her to admit it. "I've been letting him look at your book during lessons."

"I know you have," he said coolly. "Even though I told you not to use it."

"You told _me _not to use it, sir; you didn't mention Harry," she replied bravely.

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a rather cold look. "Such petty word games are beneath you, Miss Granger. Answer me, if you please. Why?"

This was awkward. Fidgeting, she took a breath and met his eyes. "It's important that Professor Slughorn likes Harry, sir. It's part of what the Headmaster is working on. I – I can't tell you why..."

She had expected Snape to look annoyed, perhaps to press her on what she wasn't telling him, or to say something scornful and dismiss her. Instead, though, he looked thoughtful for a moment before something in his eyes changed and he somehow looked a little sad. "Ah. I suppose that explains it, then," he said quietly, looking away from her. "I had wondered why I was given this job now, of all times. The Headmaster needed Professor Slughorn to come back... I see."

"I'm sure that wasn't it, sir," she protested instantly, and he barked a rough and mirthless laugh.

"Look me in the eyes and say that." She didn't even try, her stomach twisting a little, and he shook his head wearily. "I always knew it wasn't for me. I simply didn't know the full reason. It is quite clear now." Hermione felt horrible, both for having had to be the one to tell him and for his sake; it was almost impossible to tell, given his usual impassive demeanour and expert lack of expression, but she thought he was actually quite hurt.

"I'm sorry, sir."

He shook his head again, still not looking at her. "Don't be. It is hardly your fault. And it doesn't really matter anyway." She was pretty sure this was the first time he had directly lied to her.

* * *

><p>Things became rather uncomfortable for Hermione over the next few days. Ron was truly furious with her, as angry as he had been in third year when he was convinced that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and he was avoiding her so aggressively that it was really hurting now. More than that, he'd told Lavender – at least, Hermione assumed that was why her two dorm-mates had suddenly become even more bitchy than usual. Resigning herself to not being allowed near the girl's bathroom in the tower any time soon, and feeling thankful that there were so many others in the castle, she made sure all her possessions were carefully warded and tried to ignore their behaviour.<p>

She thought at first that Harry wasn't speaking to her either, but in fact he wasn't speaking to anyone. He spent three days virtually mute, lost in his own thoughts, before finally snapping out of it and talking to her again on the way back to the castle from Herbology. "Hey, Hermione."

"Hey, yourself. Are you back on this planet now?"

He gave her a sheepish grin that was so much like the old Harry she remembered from before the war that she could have hugged him. "Um, about as much as I ever am, I guess. I've been a bit weird recently, haven't I?"

"Recently?" she retorted tartly, unable to stop herself smiling. "But yes, you have. I've been worried about you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I did say I was okay though."

"No, you didn't. All you'd say was that Professor Snape hadn't hurt you. Which would have been slightly more comforting if you hadn't been in tears when you said it."

"Uh, yeah. Sorry again." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Harry, relax. I'm not going to ask. It's none of my business. Whatever happened between you was obviously something he felt was necessary, and I know you don't understand why but I do trust him. You look all right now, so you don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with."

They walked a bit further. Months of hanging around Snape had given Hermione the knack of reading silences, and there was less tension around Harry than she could remember in years. He looked very tired and had obviously had a few sleepless nights, but he also looked calm and cheerful and had clearly sorted a few things out in his head, which had presumably been the idea.

"I don't want to tell you how he did it," Harry said finally, "but Snape – he – well, he made me see why I need to keep my temper. I know he's told me and told me and told me, and so have you, and Ron a bit, but this was different. I... still can't quite believe it really happened," he added slowly, looking a little bewildered, "but... he showed me just how out of control I was." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've not really been quite right since Voldemort returned."

"Of course you haven't, Harry," she said gently. "You've heard of post-traumatic stress, right?"

He blinked at her. "Uh, yes, but I thought that was – soldiers and so on."

"And what do you think we are?"

Harry's eyes widened for a moment, before he nodded slowly. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"No reason you would," she answered. "The wizarding world doesn't know anything about psychology. I've thought that for well over a year now. Think about it... you were kidnapped by monsters from the only place you've ever really felt safe, and saw a friend murdered in front of you, not to mention your parents' ghosts, plus Voldemort being reborn using your own blood. And once term had ended, you were packed off back home as though nothing had happened, and kept totally in the dark and isolated from everyone. Then you spent another year here being tortured by that foul woman while everyone around you failed to protect you, and the closest person you had to family was murdered in front of you, you were told a terrifying prophecy, and then you were sent off home again. This is the first year when anyone's actually tried to talk to you about anything and let you know what's going on. Frankly, Harry, I'm amazed you haven't done anything worse than lose your temper occasionally."

Her friend looked rather startled, before finally nodding slowly. "I think that might be some of the reason why it all made me so angry, you know? Maybe if someone had just been willing to talk to me, and let me talk to them..."

Hermione promptly punched him in the arm, and he yelped. "What was that for?"

"That was for being stupid. You could have talked to me or Ron at any time, you stubborn prat."

After a moment's struggle he laughed aloud, something she hadn't heard in months. "Yeah, okay, point made. I'll try not to do that again. But you know what I meant."

She nodded. "Yes. I've seen a lot of cases recently of situations that have been made so much worse because people didn't realise what damage they were doing. I'd give my left arm for a decent assortment of psychology textbooks here."

"You don't already own half a dozen?"

"Very funny. I almost preferred you sulking." She grinned at him. "So what are you going to do now?"

He breathed out slowly. "Start my meditation again. I never did come up with anything to think about, but even just the breathing exercises helped a bit. And I'm going to try not to snap and yell so much."

"Good."

He grinned. "And I'm not going to interfere next time Snape's telling you off, either. Part of me was horrified even while I was doing it. I thought he'd kill me."

"I think he might do if it happens again," she advised him warningly. "He's been inhumanly patient with you this year, given the way he normally behaves with you, but he's had enough now, I think." She had no idea why – or how – Snape was controlling himself so well with his young nemesis, but she certainly wasn't going to complain.

Harry nodded vigorously; she repressed the urge to ask just what the hell had happened. "Yeah, I kind of got that impression."

"So you're feeling better about things now?"

"Well, no. But I think if I stay calm and work things out, I might do."

"That's a good start. You know I'll listen if you need me to, although you might find it easier to talk to someone else."

"Like Ron?" Harry asked pointedly. She kept her face expressionless as she looked back at him, something she'd learned to do over the past year against a far more perceptive man, and her friend shook his head. "I know why you kicked him. To be honest, I'm kind of glad you did – he was being totally out of order, and Snape was right, you wouldn't have done it if he didn't deserve it. But one of you is going to have to apologise soon, right? And, well, it's not likely to be him..."

"I don't like fighting with him, and I do very slightly regret kicking him like that – I didn't think it actually hurt as much as it apparently does – but he's been an absolute bastard to me for weeks, Harry. And it's hardly the first time, is it? I'm sick of always having to be the one to make the first move, when it's never me who starts the fight. I'm really sick of feeling this bad because he's being spiteful. I'm not going to grovel this time. I'm sorry, I know you hate being stuck between the two of us like this, but I've had enough of him _and _his girlfriend."

"Is Lavender being a cow as well?" he asked awkwardly. "I kind of figured something might be going on..."

"It's fine," she said tiredly. "It's nothing I haven't been through before. No big deal, honestly – don't worry about me. But don't expect a big reconciliation in a hurry, either."

Harry gave her a long look before nodding and sighing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you over the last few days."

"You've had a lot on your mind, Harry. We all have. Please don't start apologising for thinking!"

* * *

><p>In mid-November, Hermione received yet another late-night call from Dilys, only this one was different. "The dungeons?" she repeated sleepily, looking at the portrait. "Why? He wasn't even Summoned yesterday, he can't be that badly hurt..."<p>

"He's not hurt at all, and you're not going to see him. Trust me, Hermione, you'll want to get up for this; I've been waiting to show you for a long time."

The older witch looked excited, which was enough to stir Hermione's curiosity and force her out of bed. She hadn't been sleeping well; Harry was still in a strange mood following his mysterious lesson with Snape, withdrawn and quiet, although he was certainly outwardly a lot calmer and less angry, and Ron still wasn't speaking to her. That was fair enough, really, under the circumstances, but it would have been easier to deal with if he and Lavender weren't still flaunting their 'relationship' at every opportunity. With one friend furious with her and the other lost in his own thoughts, she could go for most of each day without talking to anyone, and it was stressing her out to the point where she welcomed this distraction now.

Wrapping her dressing gown around her, she crept out of Gryffindor Tower and made her way into the passages that would lead her to the dungeons without being caught, following Dilys – and Phineas; the Slytherin joined them about half way down – into a narrow passage she hadn't used before. Trying to map the dungeons in her head, Hermione realised this led alongside Snape's private quarters, and looked blankly at the portraits.

Dilys held a finger to her lips and gestured to her to go further; now utterly mystified, she did as she was told, and paused as a sound cut through the absolute silence of the dungeons. Straining her ears, she heard it again; it was very quiet, but unmistakeably music, and a few moments later she recognised the sound of a piano.

"Oh," she whispered, suddenly understanding, and eagerly moved deeper into the passageway until she found the place where the faint music was loudest, sitting and leaning back against the wall to listen with her eyes closed.

She didn't know much classical music, and the piece she could hear now wasn't one she was familiar with, but she did know a little bit about the piano and this was very good, an effortless-sounding rippling cascade of notes. She glanced around, but there weren't any frames down here; presumably Dilys and Phineas had better seats in one of the frames actually inside Snape's rooms. Settling more comfortably and tucking the edge of her dressing gown under her to stop her feet from freezing, she closed her eyes again and listened.

The classical music didn't last long; she was surprised but delighted to recognise the next piece he started to play as a familiar old pop song, Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah', which was absolutely not what she would have expected from Snape but was an absolutely beautiful if rather sad piece of music and being played very well. Then, even better, he started to sing along; sadly the walls were too thick for her to make out the words, but she liked this song and her mind filled in the lyrics as she listened to his unfortunately rather muffled and indistinct voice.

He turned out to have a surprisingly extensive repertoire, playing a blend of classical and pop; all the songs she recognised were slow and slightly sad, including the Carpenters, Sarah McLachlan, Queen, Simon & Garfunkel and REM, but there were plenty she didn't know as well.

Hermione had no idea how long she sat listening – she hadn't brought her watch with her – but it must have been hours before the piano finally fell silent. She could have happily listened all night, and her only regret was that the thickness of the wall prevented her from hearing it properly; smiling, she got up and stretched, making her way back along the passage to where Dilys and Phineas were waiting in the nearest frame for her.

"Wow," she told them softly.

Oddly, it was Phineas who said, "Indeed," in agreement; Dilys only smiled.

"How often does he play?"

"He picks out a tune occasionally if he's bored or frustrated. But sitting and playing properly, the way you've just heard... not for years, as far as either of us know. I haven't heard him play like that since before he told Dumbledore that his Dark Mark was coming back, and to be honest he's very seldom played since... since young Mr Potter came to Hogwarts. He has changed a great deal since then."

"Changed, how?" she asked, although she was sure she knew some of it.

Dilys looked thoughtful; Phineas had disappeared again. "He's become... harder, and sharper. He was never the outgoing sort, but he's withdrawn further into himself and pulled away from the few good things he had in his life – like his music, for example, or his art, or his other hobbies. He focuses more on his work than anything else; sometimes it's as if that's all there is. He's become more introspective, too, and spends more time inside his head, closing off from everything around him. And he's been using Occlumency much more, I've noticed, pushing all his emotions away from him and repressing everything he's feeling. It's been very difficult for him."

Hermione nodded; that made sense. "It's not a healthy way to live," she said softly as she began to make her way back towards Gryffindor Tower.

"He's not a healthy individual," Dilys pointed out once Hermione was back in bed. "He never has been; even as a boy, he was badly damaged by... well, everything, really. I've never really known how to describe it – it was almost as if he didn't understand how life was supposed to work. Oh, he was full of anger later on, but at the same time he seemed to accept his situation, as though the anger was completely separate..." She paused and chuckled softly. "I can't explain it, Hermione. I've never known anyone else quite like Severus," she added affectionately.

She giggled. "I can believe that." Settling down, she asked thoughtfully, "Would he be angry if he'd known I was listening?"

Dilys looked thoughtful. "I don't know. With most people, I'd say yes; he's always been very private and I don't think many people even know he likes music, let alone that he can play the piano and sing. But I don't know, Hermione. You've seen a lot of things he would prefer to keep private. I honestly have no idea how he'd react... but it's probably a good idea not to tell him."

"I wasn't planning on it. I might be a Gryffindor, but I'm not daft." She smiled a little. "I wish I'd been able to hear his voice properly."

The portrait grinned wickedly. "Oh, yes. If you ever do hear him sing properly... well, you'll be ruined for life, frankly."

"That good?" she asked a little wistfully, pretty sure she'd never get the chance to hear him.

"Better."

* * *

><p>The rest of November passed without incident. Snape was too busy to arrange further lessons, and since Ron and Hermione still weren't speaking Harry spent some time trying to practice duelling with each of them when he could. There were no bad Summons, as far as Hermione knew; if anything had happened, Snape was dealing with it himself.<p>

At the start of December, Hermione was working in the hospital wing, quietly absorbed in a paper dealing with different ways of healing the different types of fractures and breaks, when Dilys hailed her from her portrait. "So, my dear, I hear there is to be a party?"

"Hmm?" she replied absently. "Oh, yes, Professor Slughorn invited me. And Harry, and anyone else he happens to want in his club."

"Are you going?"

"I said I would. I'm not sure I want to, but..."

But when she'd heard about it, there had been a lot of other people around, including Lavender, and for once she had allowed her inner bitch to have a say. Putting her paper down, she looked up at the portrait, debating whether or not to admit that she'd asked Cormac McLaggen to go with her. That was... really, really childish, she had to admit, but oh God, it had been worth it just for the look on Ronald smug Weasley's smug face. Two could play his game. It had also earned Parvati's admiration, which would hopefully make life a bit easier in the dormitory from now on.

"Do you have a date yet?" Dilys asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"One of the seventh year boys."

"Really? You said Harry was going..."

"So is Ginny," Hermione replied dryly, smiling despite herself. "Harry's asked Luna to go with him, anyway – at least he'll have someone to talk to. It's going to be a bit of a boring evening, I think."

"Not if you make your own entertainment, dear. Have you decided what you're wearing yet?"

"It's not until the 20th. I've not given it any thought." She smiled ruefully. "You already know I'm terrible at being a girl."

"Well, you've got me now," the elderly witch told her firmly. "I'm going to think about this. Don't make any decisions without me."

"If you say so," she replied absently, picking up the paper she had been reading once more.

* * *

><p>A conversation took place in the corner of Dumbledore's office a couple of nights later, in whispers, as Dilys hauled her fellow conspirator into her frame and explained Slughorn's Christmas party to him.<p>

"Fascinating," the Slytherin yawned. "So?"

"So, I see an opportunity here."

"An opportunity for what?"

"For gently reminding a certain man that a certain young woman is in fact a young woman and no longer a schoolgirl. If I can create the right impression, he won't know what's hit him by the time we're through, I promise you that," she assured him with a rather evil smile. Phineas snickered, and Dilys gave him a warning glare. "You had better not be thinking of warning him, Phineas Nigellus Black," she said dangerously.

The Slytherin's portrait smirked at her. "And deprive myself of the look on his face when he sees the results of your plotting and scheming? Please. It's as if you don't know me at all. The poor man is in a great deal of trouble, I suspect. I look forward to seeing it."

"You think it's a good idea, then?"

"No, to be quite honest," Phineas told her, more seriously. "I think it's going to be a disaster. But it is necessary. Even he can't keep lying to himself forever, and if we can push him far enough it's possible he might actually open up a little. Eventually, of course, after he's gone through the inevitable phase of trying to distance himself even more and trying to ruin everything. We need to get that out of the way soon, now that she knows him well enough not to take it too seriously."

"Pessimist. You're probably right, but I don't think this is going to be a disaster at all, except perhaps for his blood pressure."

"If he even shows up. Severus hates parties, and if you hint that Granger's going to be there you know he'll run."

"Albus has already told him to attend. He can't get out of it unless he's Summoned, in which case I doubt he'd object to one of his nurses looking rather different." Dilys gave him an evil smile, and Phineas chuckled softly and rather unpleasantly.

"I do feel rather sorry for him sometimes."

"I don't. This is for his own good, after all."

"Have you told her what you're planning?"

"No. She'd be too nervous, and I want her to look natural. I would also prefer that Severus didn't realise it was deliberate; no point in encouraging his tendency towards self-destruction, not when he's kept his temper so well. And he did order us not to interfere, after all."

"I can't imagine why. He must have known we wouldn't listen."

* * *

><p>The party wasn't a success so far, Hermione reflected sourly. It wouldn't have been too bad if she'd just been able to talk to Harry, Luna and Ginny – the younger Weasley didn't know the details of why she and Ron had fallen out this time, thankfully, and Luna was always good for lightening a conversation, and it was good to see Harry more cheerful; besides, thanks to Dilys, she felt amazing at the moment. Ron's eyes had been on stalks when she'd left the common room and Lavender had looked like she was chewing broken glass.<p>

Her plan to wind her so-called friend up had turned out to have a flaw, though. Cormac was the only one in Gryffindor who hadn't realised what was going on. He really did think she was interested in him, and after almost an hour of listening to him droning about all his incredible Quidditch moves she was surprised that her ears weren't bleeding. Worse, he'd managed to corner her under the mistletoe three times and she was running out of excuses to get away – if she'd realised Slughorn had planned this type of party she would never have asked him, she'd have asked Harry. Hermione knew she was one of the least experienced girls in her year, but she knew enough to know what she liked in a kiss and what she didn't, and Cormac was absolutely dreadful. If he kept shoving his tongue that far down her throat she was going to bite it off, if she didn't gag first, and his wandering hands were going to earn him a hex soon.

Ginny was occupied elsewhere at the moment, which meant that Harry was trying not to pout and was focused on letting Luna distract him – they were talking to one of the guests at the moment; Slughorn apparently thought his powerful friends would be impressed by an invitation to a party of schoolchildren – and she was rather desperately searching for a source of diversion when she almost literally ran into Snape, skulking in a corner and scowling.

"Good evening, Professor. I didn't realise you were here," she greeted him with some relief; even a randy teenage boy wasn't going to be single-minded enough to risk Snape's wrath. Besides, she might get some intelligent conversation this way.

"Not through choice, I assure you," he said darkly, his lip curling as he scanned the room. "There is a circle of Hell somewhere that greatly resembles this, I suspect."

Hermione took a moment to look at him; he was the only person in the room who wasn't dressed for the occasion, instead sticking to his usual teaching robes, but his hair looked cleaner than it usually was and unless she was very much mistaken, he was wearing aftershave – something much nicer and less overpowering than the stuff most people here seemed to have drowned themselves in. He had a full glass in his hand that was obviously untouched, which made sense; his drinking was very much a private thing.

Looking around the room, she shrugged and half-smiled ruefully. "You might be right. I wish I hadn't come, now."

"Not going the way you planned?" he asked in a rather cold voice, giving her a not very friendly look. It had been a while since she'd found herself on the receiving end of his public persona; it was a shame he found it necessary, since nobody was close enough to overhear them at the moment.

"You could say that, sir," she agreed with a sigh, checking that there was no sign of Cormac.

Displaying his usual ability to read minds, Snape asked acidly, "Shouldn't you be with your date?"

"I'd really rather not," she admitted, giving him a rueful smile and blinking when he met it with a glare.

In a poisonous tone of voice, Snape remarked, "Don't worry too much, Miss Granger. I'm sure Weasley got the message loud and clear, and McLaggen is far too self-absorbed to have realised what's going on, fortunately for you. You don't get to hide behind me, or anyone else for that matter. If you play with fire, you must expect to get burned."

Taken aback to realise just how angry he was, she stared at him; his black eyes were hard and cold in a manner she hadn't seen in a long time. "Sir?" she asked hesitantly.

His glare intensified before he turned his attention to the glass in his hand, sneering at it before lifting it and draining the contents in a single long swallow. Dumping it on a nearby shelf, he favoured her with another sneer before turning on his heel and stalking away. Hermione stared after him as he stormed off, feeling confused and slightly upset – this wasn't exactly the reaction she had been expecting. Obviously he knew why she'd asked Cormac out, and just as obviously he didn't approve; she had thought he would find it funny. Why was he so angry with her? He was acting... she floundered, looking for a way to describe it, and finally gave up. Time to go; what little enjoyment she'd had from tonight was well and truly gone.

* * *

><p>Severus was having a very bad night. He should have been focusing on his fight with Draco, on the fact that his godson no longer trusted him and was growing increasingly desperate and unpredictable, on the fact that the boy was apparently being aided by Bellatrix – God help them all – and on the fact that he was pretty sure Potter had been following them and could have overheard anything. That should have occupied all his attention.<p>

Instead, he was trying very hard to forget the image of Granger in her black dress, which seemed to have burned itself onto his retinas permanently. Even worse was the image of watching that troll McLaggen mauling her under the mistletoe; it was no comfort at all to see that she hadn't been enjoying it, and he had a feeling the boy would be spending the first week of the new term in detention for some spurious reason or other, if he didn't simply hex him.

It was infuriating that he cared. It was absolutely none of his business if she was using the boy to wind Weasley up and he certainly shouldn't have been paying so much attention to what she looked like that he could have drawn it perfectly from memory. He cursed softly under his breath and continued pacing restlessly back and forth; his usual calm was a distant dream tonight and he knew he wouldn't sleep. Damnit, damnit, damnit.

At this point he would actually welcome a Summons just to jolt his mind out of the dangerous place his thoughts were occupying right now; he'd spent the last – he glanced at the clock and cursed again – two hours doing nothing but pacing in circles and hating himself for his perfect recall of how she had looked and for his body's treacherous reaction. And she had looked stunning, which was the problem. He could cope with the way she normally looked, at least most of the time, but he had never really seen her _dressed up _before – he was vaguely aware that she had supposedly looked incredible at the Yule Ball, according to the gossip, but he had been occupied by other things at the time and couldn't remember seeing her at all.

He shook his head slowly, some of his temper giving way to something more rueful; she couldn't have done better to discomfort him if she had deliberately set out to do so, frankly. She hadn't done much with her hair, which he approved of since he quite liked it in its usual wild state, just pulled it up and left it to spill down her neck very distractingly, and the dress itself had been nicely understated and cut just low enough and just tight enough to seriously bother him a lot more than he was happy with.

Matters hadn't been helped by the glamour she'd used to hide the scar on her chest, either. He knew the scar was there, so the spell hadn't worked properly for him, and the distracting shimmer of magic had just made it much more difficult to keep his eyes away from her cleavage. It had been a very long and frustrating couple of hours before he'd finally stormed off to yell at Draco, and the rest of the night promised to be even worse. Frankly, Severus hadn't actually realised that he was healthy enough to sustain an erection for any length of time; it had been about a year since he'd last woken up aroused and he'd assumed that his libido had long since given up. Apparently not, since he was as hard as he had ever been, almost painfully so, and barely had enough blood left in his brain to think anything at all.

Furious with himself, he continued pacing back and forth, his mood growing blacker with every step. Hermione Granger was his seventeen year old student. She had been an adult for only three months – a small voice reminded him that the age of consent in Muggle Britain was sixteen and she had in fact been legal for over a year; he sternly told the voice to shut up – and he had first met her when she was eleven years old. She was absolutely off limits and he should _not _be feeling like this. He couldn't even blame it on the fact that he hadn't been laid in years, because to be honest he'd never been all that bothered about sex and it really wasn't a priority right now. She'd brought one boy to the stupid party to make another boy jealous and was obviously neither available nor interested, damnit. He'd been through all this before and he should have learned his lesson by now.

Finally giving up, he spun on his heel and stormed off to the bathroom for a cold shower and a great deal of alcohol, bleakly attempting to direct his thoughts elsewhere and feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself. _Some people never learn._

He wished vainly yet again that this wasn't happening to him. It was a complication he emphatically did not need. The first time had been bad enough, but he had been younger then, more resilient and less set in his ways. Now, it was almost too much, on top of everything else. He didn't like feeling like this; he didn't like being in love. The poets could spout all the sugary crap they liked; love didn't feel good to him, it never had. It just hurt, and unrequited love was the most soul-destroying source of despair he had ever known.

Severus sometimes thought that this was the reason why he was able to endure all the brutal horrors that life could throw at him. No matter how bad the torment, it would never be as bad as the tortures he inflicted on himself.

* * *

><p>Hermione hadn't seen much of anyone since the Christmas holidays had started. Harry and Ron had gone to the Burrow with Ginny, and mercifully Lavender and Parvati had both gone home for Christmas so she had the dormitory to herself. She hadn't seen Snape since Slughorn's party, either; since it was the holidays he wasn't obliged to attend meals and seemed to have gone into hiding – according to Phineas and Dilys, he was sulking about something – and she wasn't going jogging in the mornings either at the moment, having given herself a bit of a holiday, especially not while he was in his current mood. The peace and quiet had been nice, at first, but it was getting a bit lonely now; she missed her parents and her cat fiercely and this promised to be a very bleak Christmas. Harry had left her Christmas present before he'd left, and Mrs Weasley would probably send her the usual jumper, but Ron wasn't speaking to her and her parents wouldn't risk contacting her again so that would probably be it.<p>

She wouldn't be giving out many gifts, either. She'd sent Harry's, and Ron's was in her trunk in case they did start talking to one another when he got back – it wasn't very likely, but you never knew – but that was really about it. She would have liked to give Madam Pomfrey something, but hadn't been able to find anything in Hogsmeade. As for Snape, she wasn't sure they'd really reached that point; he had given her a birthday present, admittedly, but it had been her coming of age and therefore it wasn't a normal occasion. She was working on something for his birthday, but she wasn't sure she'd have the courage to actually give it to him. Besides, he was clearly angry with her for some mystifying reason; the only time she'd encountered him since Slughorn's party, he'd given her a truly venomous glare and stalked off.

All in all, the run up to Christmas was pretty depressing. Since she had naturally finished all her holiday homework in the first two days, she'd spent most of her time in the library or her dormitory trying to read in between moping around. Thankfully McLaggen had also gone home for Christmas; she had a feeling he wasn't going to give up easily.

The dull monotony was broken on Christmas Eve, in fact shortly before midnight, when Phineas appeared in the frame above her bed. Unsurprisingly, he wasn't there to wish her Merry Christmas. "You're needed in the dungeons," he told her quietly.

"Not the hospital wing?"

"No. He's being stupid and stubborn and won't go."

"Where's Madam Pomfrey?"

The portrait gave her a measuring look. "Still asleep. Dilys suggested you should handle this one by yourself."

"Why?"

"Because if one of you doesn't make a move to fix this soon, he'll never speak to you again," he told her grimly. "Severus can carry a grudge for decades, you know that. Don't let him be an idiot. Will you go?"

"What's the problem?"

"I don't know. It's not the Cruciatus, but that's all I can tell you. What did you fight about, anyway?"

Hermione slid out of bed and pulled on her robes, shivering. "...I don't actually know."

"Hmph. That sounds like him. I'm surprised it took him this long, to be honest. His password at the moment is _Iscariot, _whatever that means, and Dilys and I will both be there. Get moving."

"Iscariot," she muttered ruefully, hastily tying her hair back from her face and finding her wand before slipping out into Gryffindor Tower. Pausing long enough to order a couple of third years in the common room to go to bed, she left through the portrait hole and trotted through the familiar passages and down the staircases to the dungeons. She was well aware that Snape was going to kill her for this, but it hadn't occurred to her to refuse.

She let herself into his rooms, which were in total darkness, and stood listening for a long moment before cautiously venturing across his living room. "_Lumos minima,_" she whispered softly, and the tip of her wand began to emit a very muted grainy light that was just about enough to let her avoid walking into anything. It was a little worrying that he hadn't already detected her entry and come to throw her out; she wished Dilys had been the one to fetch her. The witch could have given her some idea of what she was facing.

She heard Dilys' voice once she reached the hallway, coming from the bathroom, where a strip of light showed under the door. "For the last time, Severus, go to the hospital wing."

Snape's voice was a hoarse rasp as he snarled, "Will you give it a rest, woman? I'm not going anywhere. Shut the hell up."

The language was a bad sign; he was obviously in a foul mood. Bracing herself, Hermione pushed the door open. Snape was standing by the sink, facing away from her; his robe lay in a discarded heap of black cloth on the floor and his white shirt seemed mostly red, in the split second she had to take in the sight before he whirled around with his wand raised. She actually felt the surge of his magic before he recognised her and presumably managed to abort whatever spell he had cast.

"What the _hell _are you doing in here?" he spat huskily.

"Phineas told me your password," she replied automatically, staring at him with wide eyes. It looked like he had been thoroughly beaten up; one eye was swollen shut and turning a beautiful shade of purple, there was a split in his eyebrow that was trickling blood into his other eye, his lower lip was split and puffy, his nose was bleeding and she could see marks on his neck where his shirt was half undone that looked like he'd been throttled, which explained his voice. His shirt was spattered with gore, and it looked like it was soaking its way along the cloth from somewhere on his back; red drops spotted the floor as well, and his hands looked bruised.

"Get out."

She swallowed. "No, sir."

His expression darkened still further. "Get. Out."

"No, sir."

He took an unsteady step towards her. "Get out now, Granger, or I swear I will throw you out."

Hermione spotted the waver as his balance faltered, and his face was bloodlessly pale between bruises; he was in no condition to do anything at all, except possibly collapse. "Go ahead, sir," she told him calmly. "Try not to hit the sink when you faint; I've never had to treat head trauma before."

"It's too late, Severus," Dilys told him cheerfully. "She's not scared of your growling any more. Now you can either play nicely and let Hermione sort you out, or I can go and rouse Poppy to come down here and scold you, but one way or another you're going to accept help."

Snape glared at them both in helpless frustration, but he was obviously in pain; his balance wavered again and he suddenly looked too tired to fight any more, swaying for a moment before closing his eyes and coughing painfully. "Whatever," he mumbled, slowly limping past her towards his bedroom.

Hermione followed him, hoping devoutly that he was too woozy to notice her familiarity with his rooms as she knelt by the bedside table and started sorting through the potions in there to find Blood-Replenishing Potion and a painkiller. Snape seemed to be trying to remove his shirt, but it looked like there was something wrong with one of his shoulders, and the cloth seemed to be stuck to his back with blood, which was a bad sign. Finally she shook her head and stood up. "Let me, sir. Sit down, please."

Uncharacteristically, he did as she asked without so much as a scowl, breathing shallowly. She could smell a lot of blood, the thick sweetly coppery scent that made her feel faintly sick, and once she was close enough she was pretty sure his trousers as well as his shirt were soaked in it. Trying not to speculate about that, she focused on getting his shirt out of the way, wincing in sympathy when she saw his back; it looked like he'd been whipped again, and from the cuts and bruises visible on his ribs and stomach he appeared to have been on the receiving end of what had literally been a good kicking.

It would have been easier if he had been lying down, but under the circumstances she thought it best not to speak to him any more than could be avoided. Handing him the potions, she began washing out the wounds, staunching the bleeding as she went, before starting to close them in approximate order of severity. He drank the potions in silence, massaged his bruised throat briefly and then settled to ignoring her rather sullenly.

Finally unable to bear the silence any more, she commented as nonchalantly as she could manage, "He really knows how to throw a party, doesn't he."

"Ha," he muttered, stiffly leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Everyone else enjoyed themselves."

"Oh, good," she replied sarcastically, finding the problem with his shoulder – a cracked collarbone – and carefully repairing it. "Are there many Millwall fans among the Death Eaters? It looks like you were caught in the football riots."

"That was before your time," he pointed out hoarsely. "The effect was somewhat similar, though. Amongst other things," he added darkly, suppressing a wince.

Swallowing bile, Hermione ignored that and carried on cleaning up, tending his cracked ribs. "There's an old cut here that's got badly infected, sir. I'm going to have to reopen it to drain it. Hold still, please." He growled something about meddling under his breath but obediently held still as she carefully cut along the puffy flesh, grimacing at the pus that seeped from the wound. Once it was reopened, she cleaned it out properly before closing it again; it looked like a knife wound, but it could have been anything. There was no point trying to scold him for letting it get that bad; he wouldn't listen, and whenever he finally snapped out of his odd sulky mood he'd make her pay for it.

"This is a bit odd for a punishment, sir."

"Don't be nosy," he responded tiredly.

"Don't be rude, Severus," Dilys chided from the wall. "She's right, this is odd. It looks like you've been in a brawl."

"Something like that," he replied wearily. "I'm equally popular on both sides... plenty of people want a go at me." He coughed painfully and swallowed. "Most of this happened after the meeting was over. Are you done yet?"

"With your back and ribs, yes, sir. I'm not sure what I can do about your throat, but I can fix your eye and your lip before I go. I suppose if I ask you whether there's anything else wrong, you'll deny it, won't you?"

"What would be the point of that? I will, however, tell you to mind your own business."

"Fine. I probably don't want to know anyway." Moving to stand in front of him, she carefully touched the tip of her wand to the split in his lower lip. "Your nose is still bleeding."

He grunted. "I know. It's stress. It'll stop eventually." Licking his lip thoughtfully as she took her wand away, he closed his eyes as she touched the swelling bruise; his colour had improved but he still looked utterly exhausted.

"At least tell me you won the fight," she muttered, noting the cuts on his knuckles.

He snorted, sending a fresh trickle of blood from his nose. "Naturally."

"All right, sir, I think I'm done. Just let me check for internal injuries quickly, and then I'll leave you in peace."

"If wishing made it so," he replied caustically, but it lacked his usual venom. It seemed he was too tired to continue being angry with her – or he simply didn't want to face another scolding from Dilys. Her scan picked up several points of internal bleeding, but all of them were very clearly off limits and she left him to deal with them. He ignored her when she wished him good night, which she had expected, and she made her way back to Gryffindor Tower feeling somewhat put out. _Maybe Father Christmas will bring him a new personality tomorrow._

* * *

><p><em>Oops.<br>_


	21. Chapter 21

__This chapter contains, amongst other things, Charles Dickens, chilli peppers and revelations. Enjoy. (Also, most of the Beauty & The Beast soundtrack is perfect SSHG.)  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong>"New and a bit alarming<br>Who'd have ever thought that this could be?  
>True that he's no Prince Charming<br>But there's something in him that I simply didn't see..."**  
>– Beauty &amp; The Beast, 'Something There'.<p>

* * *

><p>Christmas morning was about as bleak as she had expected, with gifts only from Harry and Mrs Weasley, although she did have a couple of Christmas cards. One was from Madam Pomfrey, and the other was a Muggle card, a surprisingly tasteful one showing a forest in winter with no glittery snowmen or twee robins or suspiciously grinning reindeer anywhere to be seen; the envelope was blank and there was nothing written inside. Hermione stared blankly at it for some time before starting to smile a little; she could only think of one person who might have sent it. <em>That's actually almost sweet. And he's insane. <em>Shaking her head, she put it by her bed and got dressed; this year's Weasley jumper was a dark blue-green.

Breakfast in the Great Hall wasn't exactly lively either; the students had fled the school in droves, it seemed, and they were once again reduced to a single table. She managed to get a seat next to Madam Pomfrey and almost directly opposite a very tired and grumpy-looking Snape; his face was free of blood or bruises this morning but his eyes were bloodshot and sunken and he was pointedly ignoring everyone as he apparently tried to drink his own bodyweight in black coffee, refusing any food.

Hermione remembered her rather bleak morning in the empty dormitory; no friends, no family, virtually no gifts. Glancing uncertainly at Snape, she wondered if his had been any better; she doubted it. He was the only person at the table not smiling. Christmas was depressing if you were on your own, and although it was true that at least some of his isolation was self-inflicted, not all of it was. Trying to focus on her breakfast, she thought of fog, knowing he wouldn't appreciate her sympathy, and winced at the suicidal bravery of his colleagues trying to cajole him into some seasonal goodwill.

"Come now, Severus," Dumbledore chided the surly Head of Slytherin cheerfully. "It's Christmas, after all. Show a little festive spirit."

Snape gave his employer a sullen and unimpressed look; he might well be hung over again, going by his appearance at the moment. "Humbug," he responded sourly.

"Christmas a humbug? You don't mean that, I am sure," Hermione replied automatically before she could think about what she was doing. She couldn't have stopped herself for a thousand Galleons. Everyone at the table stared at her, and she felt herself starting to blush in mortified embarrassment; she was about to attempt to stammer an apology, until she noticed that Snape's black eyes had started to glitter.

"I do," he told her deliberately and scornfully. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."

Desperately fighting back sudden delighted laughter, and ignoring the baffled looks everyone else was giving the two of them, she turned in her chair to face him directly and retorted, "Come then. What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."

"Bah. Humbug." His eyes had crinkled at the corners in his silent laugh again, and Hermione was aware that she was smiling broadly as well as trying not to giggle.

"Don't be cross." She couldn't believe that he had even got the reference in the first place, let alone that he was actually playing along. This was utterly surreal, and utterly brilliant.

"What else can I be, when I live in such a world of fools as this?" he snapped at her, his eyes alight. "Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!" Taking a breath, Snape very nearly smiled, his lips twitching. "Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."

"Keep it! But you don't keep it," she countered.

"Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"

Hermione floundered for a moment and bit her lip before shaking her head, half-laughing ruefully. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't remember the rest. I haven't read it in quite a while."

"Nonetheless, impressive," he observed mildly. "Master Dickens would be proud." He lifted his coffee mug to her in a silent toast before turning his attention to his food once more, apparently in a better mood now. Hermione looked around and found that everyone else in the room was still staring blankly at the two of them; even the Headmaster looked confused. She considered trying to explain A Christmas Carol to a room full of purebloods – Harry at least would have heard of Scrooge, but she doubted he'd ever read the book, if he even knew it _was _a book, so it was probably just as well that he wasn't here – and decided that it wasn't worth the effort; giving them an annoyingly bright smile instead, she returned her focus to her own meal and tried not to laugh, avoiding Snape's eyes.

Afterwards, she caught up with him just outside the hall, fighting back a grin as he gave her an amused look and nodded to her. "Ready for your close up?" he asked dryly; he truly didn't seem to be angry with her any more, at least.

She smiled at him. "You were a lot better than I was," she replied admiringly.

He snorted. "Really, Miss Granger, surely you have realised by now that of necessity, I am a very good actor?"

"Yes, obviously, but it's not the same," she protested, smiling again. "I mean, you don't often need voice tricks, do you?"

"You'd be surprised," he replied thoughtfully, tilting his head fractionally to one side, before shrugging slightly as he looked back at her. "I use everything at my disposal."

Hermione blinked at that, wondering briefly how other Death Eaters might be affected by that quiet silky voice that could hold a class spellbound for hours or terrify them all into fits of hysteria. Caught up in the mental images the thought provoked, she said absently, "I'd love to hear you read Shakespeare or something someday."

He gave her an unreadable stare in response, causing her to blush when she realised she had said it aloud. _Way to be subtle, Hermione. Why not paint a sign on your forehead while you're at it? _Evidently Snape elected to ignore what she had said, merely nodding to her and turning away towards the dungeons. Clearing her throat, she called softly after him, "Merry Christmas, sir."

"If you say so," he replied dryly, glancing back at her with a faint hint of a smile in his eyes.

* * *

><p>When she heard the bells ringing at midnight on New Year's Eve, Hermione was hard pressed to control her laughter; there weren't enough students left at Hogwarts for much of a celebration, although by the sound of it there was a hell of a party going on at the Three Broomsticks tonight, but she was prepared to admit she was seeing in the New Year in the weirdest way imaginable. After all, nobody else was daft enough to be huddled under a tree down by the school gates, alone in the darkness. She didn't even have the smart defence of Harry's Invisibility Cloak, since he'd taken it with him. It was a miracle she'd made it out of the castle without being caught.<p>

It had been a very busy evening, though, starting with her _Eureka! _moment during dinner – she regretted leaving the Great Hall so quickly now; she had only had a few mouthfuls and she was getting rather hungry, but she still had a few Christmas snacks in her room. From dinner she had, inevitably, gone to the library, and then to her room and her own books – specifically, one of the volumes of her collection of the complete Encyclopaedia Britannica. Her friends would be amazed to know how often she used those; some of the volumes were in danger of falling apart.

And the result of all that frantic activity was the parchment scroll in her pocket, covered with her notes. Impatiently she fidgeted, stamping some feeling back into her feet, and hoped she wouldn't be out here much longer. Warming Charms and excitement could only do so much to defeat cold and weariness.

Finally she heard the sharp _crack _that she had been waiting to hear – inevitably, it scared the living daylights out of her – and she drew in a breath at the sight of the figure that had appeared beyond the gates. That flowing black robe didn't belong in a classroom, and the moonlight – mercifully, it wasn't actually snowing – caught the polished face of the featureless mask that sometimes showed up in her nightmares still.

It was a very powerful and intimidating image, and one that was utterly ruined when the tall dark figure collapsed to his knees in the snow, clawed his mask off, hunched over and threw up.

_So much for the big bad Death Eater, _Hermione told herself, watching Snape sympathetically and making a mental note not to be in any rush to read the Daily Prophet tomorrow. She'd be happier not knowing the details of whatever he'd been made to do tonight that had put him in this state. It was surely too much to hope for that he was simply drunk from seeing in the New Year at a party somewhere – now that was an image to make her head hurt; Voldemort and Mr Malfoy and the others standing around a punchbowl with party squeakers singing Auld Lang Syne.

After some time Snape straightened up and sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth before eating a handful of snow. Standing up stiffly – she winced with him when something clicked audibly, possibly his knee – he kicked snow over the vomit and stretched, rolling his shoulders before shrugging the robe off. Wrapping it around his mask, he drew his wand and shrank the bundle, putting it in the pocket of his coat before pulling another bundle out of a different pocket and expanding it to reveal his normal teaching robe, which he wrapped around himself with a shiver; only then did he turn and open the gate.

He clearly wasn't feeling well; he had closed the gate behind him before he spotted her and stiffened. His voice was soft and dangerous as he said quietly, "I'm not in the mood for this, girl. Do not presume to try my patience tonight."

_Oh, it really must have been bad. I'm definitely not reading the paper tomorrow. _Hermione licked her lips and replied carefully, "It's freezing out here, Professor, and I'm breaking curfew, and it's so late at night that it's early in the morning. I wouldn't be out here if I didn't think it was important." All right, she did worry about him every time he was Summoned, but she couldn't risk waiting for him each time, and there really was another reason this time.

Snape's expression was even harder to read by moonlight, but his scowl was easy to see. "I don't see flames or hear screams and you don't seem to have been crying. This had better be good, or you are going to be extremely sorry."

Growing less and less confident by the second, Hermione fished her notes out of her pocket and handed them to him mutely; she hadn't expected this mood. Taking the scroll from her with a glare, he unrolled it, lighting his wand tip with a curt, "_Lumos,_" and promptly screwing his eyes almost shut against the light, squinting down at her handwriting. She watched him anxiously and saw him freeze into utter stillness, his whole body tensing.

"Capsaicin," he said finally in little more than a whisper, staring down at the parchment in his hand; he almost seemed to have forgotten that she was there. "Of course..."

It took everything she had not to squeal aloud in sheer girly joy at his reaction, or to do a victory dance in the snow. Sometimes being a complete and utter nerd was so damned _useful! _She hadn't been thinking beyond creating warmth when she'd first thought of chillies, but once she'd looked them up to confirm that she had remembered right and they could be used externally to create warmth for treating muscular or joint pain, she had discovered that the capsaicin in the chilli would if taken orally potentially act as a painkiller, actually numbing the nerves, and increase the heat produced by the body. Snape was certainly a skilled enough chemist to work out how best to harness those all-important properties while minimising any side effects – it damaged the nerves in the long term because of something to do with neurotransmitters, although it wasn't as if his nervous system could get much worse, and there had been something about insulin that she hadn't been able to follow very well.

He was still staring at her notes, and she thought for a few moments that he really had forgotten her presence until he seemed to mentally shake himself and looked around at her. "How did you think of this?" he asked softly; his voice sounded a bit odd, but she couldn't work out why.

Hermione grinned at him. "There was curried lamb for dinner. It was that simple." No wonder Snape hadn't thought of it himself; his stomach ulcer meant he couldn't have touched spicy food in at least a year, not without seriously regretting it for days afterwards.

He snorted softly, shaking his head and apparently appreciating the simplicity, before giving her another odd look. "This could have waited..."

"I'm still on holiday, so I wouldn't see you except at mealtimes," she pointed out. "I'd be spotted if I tried to go down to your rooms during the day, and this was too important to wait for the start of term." Besides, she'd never have been able to sleep for thinking about his reaction, although she certainly wasn't going to admit to that.

Snape looked back down at the parchment in his hand, his expression totally unreadable now; his lank hair fell forward to hide his face as he said quietly, "Thank you." Without giving her a chance to respond, he added acidly, "Now get to bed before I am forced to take action."

Trying as hard as she could to sound meek instead of triumphant, Hermione nodded earnestly. "Yes, sir."

Given that they were both going in the same direction, she ended up walking beside him the whole way up the drive, and detouring with him to the far less exposed entrance into the dungeons so she was less likely to be caught. The atmosphere between them was really strangely tense, but it didn't bother her, since Snape wasn't really capable of his usual shields tonight and it took her less than five minutes to realise that he was somewhat embarrassed; he really could be almost adorably awkward sometimes, since his social skills were pretty lacking, and she had obviously seriously shocked him. As far as Hermione was concerned, that meant she should feel proud of herself, and when she wished him a good night in the dungeons and headed back to Gryffindor Tower she was almost skipping.

* * *

><p>It was nice to see the boys again, Hermione supposed. It would have been nicer if she'd actually been at the Burrow with them over Christmas, but in the end it was just as well that she'd been at Hogwarts under the circumstances, and in any case Mrs Weasley had been very nice and very apologetic about the sheer lack of space since Fleur had been on the spare bed in Ginny's room this time and all the boys had been home at once – well, apart from Percy, obviously. Besides, she was still angry with Ron, which wasn't helped by the fact that Lavender had jumped on him as soon as they got into the common room. Furious with herself for caring even slightly, when Harry said he had something to tell her she dragged him outside into the snow to talk.<p>

He told her what had happened at the stupid party – she'd made herself scarce once Snape had stormed off in a temper and had been avoiding McLaggen ever since – and she pushed her feelings away and made herself listen. "Oh, Harry. Not Draco again?" She had never dared ask Snape about this theory. If it was true, he would be dealing with it, and he wouldn't tell her anything about it anyway; if it was false, he'd never let any of them hear the end of it.

"Come off it, even you can't deny this." He gave her a frustrated look. "Look, Hermione, I know you've been doing this Healing thing and seen Snape a few times before our weird 'training' started, and I know you seem to be getting on with him a bit, and I'm sure you don't want to believe he's up to something... but you can't deny the facts. You know Snape's a Death Eater, and Malfoy is definitely up to something, and now this thing with Greyback... and _their master, _what else could that possibly mean?"

Hermione regarded her best friend pensively. She knew he still blamed Snape for Sirius' death, at least in part, and although he was getting much better at dealing with his anger the feud between them was never going to heal, but... "I know how it looks, Harry. I know there's something going on and I agree that it looks suspicious. But Professor Snape is definitely on our side. I'm willing to bet my life, and yours, on it."

"How can you be so sure? I mean, I'll admit that lesson helped me clear my head, a bit – don't look at me like that, I'm still not going to tell you what happened, it was private. But I still can't really bring myself to trust him."

She bit her lip, considering how much to tell him. He wouldn't believe everything, and a lot of it was none of his business – Hell would freeze over before she told him about his mother and Snape – and some of it would violate confidentiality, but she had to say _something. _"Well, partly, it's 'this Healing thing'. You've no idea what he goes through, Harry, you really don't. Nobody would endure that for just an act."

"That doesn't prove anything except that Voldemort's a psycho, and we already knew that."

Hermione sighed. "I wish you could just trust me on this."

"I do trust you," he said immediately, before shoving a hand through his messy hair. "But you always try to see the good in people, Hermione. I think you trust Snape because you want to, because you don't want to think that you might be wrong."

"That's not it, Harry. I didn't trust him either when this first started, not really – I know I said I did, but I was playing Devil's Advocate, trying to keep you and Ron from – well, being you and Ron, I suppose," she added with another sigh. "But there's so much we didn't know about things he does for the Order. And..." She hesitated and bit her lip again. "Look, if I tell you one of the reasons why I trust Professor Snape, will you swear to me that you'll never breathe a word to anyone? Not even Ron, or even Dumbledore. Nobody else must know. _Promise_ me."

Harry looked startled, but nodded earnestly. "I promise."

"Okay, then. You remember last summer, when I told everyone that I'd persuaded my parents to leave the country in case something happened to them, and came to stay in Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes..."

"It wasn't my idea," she told him softly. "Professor Snape came to warn us that the Death Eaters were about to start going after the families of Muggleborns, and that I was their main target because I'm known as your friend. He helped with the arrangements and he helped convince my parents."

He gaped at her with a stunned expression. "...Really?" he asked faintly.

"Really. And he didn't have to, Harry. Nobody in the Order knew about it until some of the others were attacked, nobody knew that he had known about the plan in advance, because it's not the sort of thing he's usually involved in. There was absolutely no reason for him to warn me, and even less reason for him to help – he even gave my parents money to help sort things out quickly; I thought at the time that it was from the Order, I only found out after they'd gone that the Order didn't know anything about it. He took an unbelievable risk to warn me, and he didn't have to."

Harry was still staring at her, utterly shocked. This didn't fit with his image of Snape at all, and he was clearly struggling to match it up with how he viewed their teacher. "Then... why did he do it?"

"I'm still not completely sure," she admitted with a rueful smile. "I'd like to think it's because he likes me – I've been seeing him more often than I told you. He goes jogging every morning just like I do. I think we're sort of almost friends, outside lessons. But I really don't know. I assume it's partly because of some sort of obligation over this Healing business, and I think the rest of it is because he could get away with warning me. It's not outside the realms of possibility that I could have thought of it by myself – you all believed I had." She shrugged. "So that's why I trust him, anyway. And come off it, Harry. How many times has he tried to save your life by now? We've got plenty of evidence that he's on our side, and nothing solid to prove that he isn't. And you know it, even if you won't admit it."

They walked in silence for a little while; ironically, Hermione noticed, her wandering feet had led them to the path by the lake, and they were walking along the jogging circuit. She could still see Snape's footprints in the snow – she'd given herself the rest of the holidays off, under the circumstances. Glancing sideways, she found Harry obviously very deep in thought, until finally he asked abruptly, "You say you're friends with him?"

"Well, that's probably exaggerating a little bit, I suppose, but we're not enemies any more."

"But in lessons..."

"Professional spy, Harry, remember? He's a good actor. Besides, he doesn't enjoy teaching, and I do know that I can be annoying in class."

"Nobody's that good an actor. I don't care what anyone says. He's still a total git, Hermione. He hates everyone."

She giggled and nodded. "I know that. Believe me, he's still a git in private, too. But... oh, it's hard to explain. There's more to him than that. When he wants to be, he can be quite good company, weird as it sounds. He's pretty funny when he's being nasty about someone else... you should have heard some of the conversations we had about Umbridge last year. And he's unbelievably smart."

"Last year? How long has this been going on?"

"Well, you know that's when the Healing started. I started jogging with him, um, just before Christmas last year, I think. And... well... my parents' escape wasn't the only idea of his that I took the credit for..." At Harry's blank look, she said very quietly, "Occlumency."

"What?" he exclaimed.

"He was teaching me so that I could teach you. He did know how important it was, Harry. That was the only way. The two of you in a room together – well, it was always going to be a disaster. Working through me... it could have worked. It didn't, obviously, but he was trying to find a way. Anyway, we spent a bit of time together then, too."

"And nobody else knows?"

"Nope." She grinned. "I've always found that quite funny. People are so good at spreading rumours, but somehow nobody ever picked up on this. I don't think even Dumbledore knows." Phineas and Dilys almost certainly did, but they hadn't told anyone, not even Madam Pomfrey, as far as she knew. Her grin faded. "That's why I asked you not to tell anyone, Harry."

"I promised I wouldn't, and I meant it," he protested indignantly, before shaking his head. "This is crazy. He's... he's..."

"I know, Harry. He's a git and a Death Eater. And he's cold and spiteful, and the way he treats you often isn't fair, and nobody likes him or trusts him. He's still my friend, sort of, and I don't really understand why any more than you do. That's just how it is."

They continued to walk in silence for a little while. Harry was frowning in fierce concentration, lost in thought; she could practically hear the cogs whirring in his brain.

His first question, nearly ten minutes later, was a startling non sequitur that made absolutely no sense. "What's going on with you and Ron?"

"What? We were talking about Professor Snape..."

"I know. And now I'm asking about Ron." He gave her an intent look. "Humour me, okay?"

Blinking, Hermione stared at him for a long moment, before shrugging. "The same thing that always goes on with me and Ron, Harry. We've spent more time arguing than we ever have as friends, I think."

"Not like this. You're both acting really weirdly. Are you honestly jealous of Lavender?"

"_What?_"

"Don't give me that look. Since she got together with Ron, you've been acting strangely. But..." He hesitated and gave her a serious look. "Are you really, truly jealous, or do you just – think you should be?"

She blinked at him, frowning. "What?"

"Look, let's sit a moment." He dragged her over to a fallen tree and swept the worst of the snow off it, sitting down and pulling her down next to him. "Okay. I'm not daft. You and Ron have fancied each other for ages, even I've worked that one out. But, well, nothing's ever happened between you. At the Yule Ball, you waited for him to ask you out, but that's not really like you, Hermione. I think if you were that set on it, you'd have asked him. I don't know why he didn't ask you sooner – I was thinking of asking you myself, because you wouldn't misunderstand and it would give me someone to talk to, but I didn't because I knew Ron would hate me for it. And you said you were going to ask him to Slughorn's Christmas thing, but you left it really late and I don't think that's a coincidence, and I don't think it was anything to do with Lavender either because you've never liked her."

"Harry..." she protested weakly, and he shook his head.

"No, let me finish. I've been thinking about this for a while, ever since it started to get obvious that you liked each other. And... God, I feel really bad saying this, but – well, I can't understand why. You said it yourself, you spend more time fighting than anything else. You've got absolutely nothing in common. I've thought for a while that I didn't really want you to start going out together, because I'm pretty sure it would end really badly and I don't think you'd ever be friends again. Like with me and Cho; we can't talk to each other now. Look, Ron's my best mate and he's like my brother, but... well, he can be an insensitive idiot, and you were right, he does have the emotional range of a teaspoon – nice line, by the way."

"Um. Thanks?"

"You're welcome. Anyway, I – I just can't see you and Ron being happy. And I'm really dense when it comes to this sort of thing, as you've told me frequently, so if _I _can see it, I figure you can too, even if you won't admit it. Because you're _smart, _Hermione, and you do get it. I don't think you could be happy with someone like Ron. So that's why I'm asking if you really are jealous, because I don't really think there's actually any reason why you would be."

Utterly stunned, Hermione sat back and stared glassily at the snowy trees. She hadn't questioned her anger with Ron, any more than she had questioned her feelings for him over the past two years or so, but now that Harry had said it... "Have you talked to him about me?" she asked faintly as she thought.

Harry shook his head. "Guys don't do that, Hermione," he told her ruefully. "We probably should, I reckon, but we don't. I know he likes you, and he won't shut up about being a free agent and how you've got no right to be angry with him and he is still insanely jealous of Krum – what's going on there, by the way?"

She rolled her eyes, distracted for a moment. "Nothing. We went to the ball. We went out a couple of times, and yes, if you must know, we did snog a few times too. But there wasn't anything there. I like him, and I still write to him sometimes, and he liked being with someone who wasn't just a fangirl, but that's it. Don't get sidetracked."

"Right, sorry. Anyway, like I said, Ron likes you and he's jealous, of Krum and now McLaggen – which serves you right, incidentally."

"So I've been told," she muttered, before giving him an impatient look.

"Only I don't know why Ron's acting like this. It doesn't make any more sense than you acting like it. I mean, I can see why he fancies you... um..." He went red, and she grinned despite herself.

"Stop digging before you start, Harry. I know you don't fancy me. I don't fancy you either. Relax. You and me, we're brother and sister, and it would be unbelievably weird if there was anything else. You're a good looking boy, but you're not my type."

"Right, right." He nodded earnestly, looking relieved. "That's my point, though. Ron fancies you, but he fancies most girls to be honest. I don't reckon he'd want to go out with you if it actually happened. You don't like the same things and I sometimes think that without my impossibly weird life as a common interest you wouldn't have much to talk about. I'm friends with you both for completely different reasons, because you're both so different. And you're like me, Hermione; I don't think you're looking for casual, are you?"

She shook her head, impressed with his reasoning so far. "No, you're right, I'm not."

"I don't know what Ron's looking for, to be honest. Like I said, boys don't talk about stuff like that. But you're looking for permanent, and I just can't see it with Ron. I think you'd kill him, actually."

That made her smile despite herself. "You're probably right. Damnit." She sighed. "I think you're right, Harry. I don't think there could be anything between us, not really. I guess that's why, as you said, I haven't actually tried to make anything happen; I suppose part of me always knew. But... it still hurts, seeing him like this. The way he keeps trying to rub my nose in it isn't helping, either – that's why I went out with Cormac."

Harry nodded. "I worked that much out. He's still being spiteful about it. And Lavender's enjoying winding you up, too, because you've never really got along with her and I don't think she's ever forgiven you about that business with her pet rabbit in third year and to be honest I don't think any of the girls in our year like that you're so much smarter than they are."

She snorted softly. "That's not it, Harry. I've shared a dormitory with Lavender and Parvati for six years and we've spent most of it driving one another mad. I don't have anything in common with either of them and they're stereotypically girly to the point of setting my teeth on edge. They don't understand me and I don't understand them, and we were never going to get along."

"Okay, fine, it's a girl thing and I won't try to understand it. Anyway, Ron's being a bit of a thoughtless git, and you and Lavender don't like each other, and that makes sense. But mostly I reckon you're jealous for the same reason I am – it's almost certainly not going to last, and she is pretty irritating sometimes, but at least he's found someone. And we haven't."

That hit home with more force than anything else he had said, and Hermione nodded ruefully. He was right. She'd been missing Viktor recently simply because it had been nice to go out with someone; she'd written and told him so, teasing him about his new girlfriend at the same time so he wouldn't misunderstand, and he'd reassured her that she'd find someone eventually. "You'll be all right, Harry. Ginny's waited a long time for you; it won't hurt you to wait for her for a little while."

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, come off it. Did you really think I wouldn't notice? You've been staring at her in the common room for months, and you've been trying so painfully hard not to act weirdly around Dean."

"You said she didn't like me like that any more."

"Because you were interested in Cho and I didn't want to distract you. If it hadn't been for Cedric, you could have been good together, I think, at least for a while. It's a shame, but she'll be okay and so will you once things sort themselves out. Ginny hasn't given up on you, Harry, but she's not going to put her whole life on hold for you either. I don't see her and Dean lasting very long; if they do break up, for God's sake, make a move before someone else does."

"It's not that simple..."

"Yes, it is. You like her. She likes you. She knows what it really means to be the Boy Who Lived; she's not a fangirl. She knows you, Harry, the real you. Most of her brothers adore you and have no doubt seen this coming for a long time; they're not as daft as they seem. Percy doesn't count any more, and Ron... he'll get over it. You're his best mate. He'd rather have you as a brother than anyone else she could pick."

"I'm not going to argue with you. I don't think I believe you, but I'm not going to argue with you, because we're supposed to be talking about you. Are you actually jealous of Ron?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. I don't think so, but I'll need some more time to think about it. I think you're right, which is actually unbelievably scary. You're right that there's no future for us, but I do still like him, sort of. Oh, I don't know. Maybe, is your answer."

"Okay. Now we're going to come to the really weird question. Please don't hit me."

"Harry?"

"No, seriously. What I'm about to ask is really, really weird, and I can't quite believe I'm about to say it, and I think you're going to kill me, but part of me thinks I might be right. I hope I'm not, but I'm not that lucky."

"You're babbling nonsense, Harry. Take a moment, breathe, then talk."

He gave her a very intent look, his bright green eyes serious and confused simultaneously, then looked away uncomfortably and asked very quietly, "Hermione... how much do you really like Snape?"

She choked, staring at him incredulously, but even as she opened her mouth to answer something clicked in her brain and she reeled for a moment, consciously admitting what her behaviour meant for the first time. Her parents' letter on her birthday... the way she went to him sometimes to escape her problems for a while... his birthday present, safe in her dormitory while she put the finishing touches to it... Slughorn's Christmas party... the Amortentia... "Oh, fuck," she said helplessly, leaning forward to bury her face in her hands; she normally didn't swear, but it was justified this time.

"Crap," Harry muttered. "You weren't supposed to say that. You were supposed to slap me around the back of the head and tell me I'm a moron."

"You are," she told him in a muffled voice. "Unfortunately, that doesn't mean you're wrong. Oh, _fuck._"

"Are you all right?"

"I doubt it, somehow. I think I'm in trouble here."

"What? Oh God. What's happened?"

"What? Oh, no, no, nothing like that. Honest. No, it's just... I hadn't admitted it to myself before now. I've literally only just realised. Hell, Harry... I really know how to pick them, don't I?"

"He's better than Lockhart, at least?"

"Shut up."

"No. Because if you start crying I'm going to freak out. You're not supposed to cry. You're supposed to sort out other people. I don't know how to handle it if you start acting human on me, Hermione. You're meant to be Wonder Woman."

"Stop trying to make me laugh. I'm busy panicking." Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and let the cold air touch her face again. "I'm not going to cry. But God, what a mess. _Snape._"

"You said you liked him."

"Yes, but not like that. And he certainly doesn't like me like that."

"Are you sure?"

"What?"

Harry was looking almost green, but he kept talking. "I'm trying not to freak out here, but I remember thinking at Slughorn's thing that Snape was acting really weird. The stuff with Malfoy put it out of my mind, but he was acting weird. And in our 'training' sessions, he's been... well, not _nice _to you, but much nicer than to me or to Ron. I've never known Snape to have a friend, at all. I'm pretty sure he's never had one, actually. But he does sort of seem to like you, now I look at it."

"Like I said, we're weirdly almost friends. But that's all it is."

He looked around and picked up a stick, leaning forward to draw a vertical line in the snow. "Let's play a game. Positive and Negative."

"Harry, wait. Are you really, seriously trying to come up with good points about my having a doomed and insane crush on Professor Snape, the man you hate above everyone else except possibly Voldemort?"

"I don't hate him quite that much. I do hate him, but not that much. He's probably my favourite Death Eater," Harry confessed, laughing softly, "not that that's saying much, but he's the only one I've met who hasn't actually tried to kill me – despite everything I've thought since first year. I absolutely do not like him, but the more I think about this, the more I think it makes a really, really twisted sort of sense. So, why do you think it's doomed?"

"I'm twenty years younger than him."

"So? You're of age. It clearly doesn't bother you, and to be honest I've always thought you'd go for older men. I'm not talking about Lockhart, we're blaming that one purely on hormones and ignoring it. Krum was older, and I don't think you'd ever settle for someone our age really. You're a lot more mature than we are, and that's why I don't think it's a negative. You're mature enough for Snape not to find you as annoying as he pretends to. If you've become 'weirdly almost friends' then you've been able to talk to each other. Besides, you're both going to live for another century or so at least, right? Twenty years isn't really the end of the world."

"I'm his student."

"Yeah, because Snape absolutely cares about the rules. He's always been so unwilling to bend them for his own reasons."

"He's still my teacher. That bothers me, no matter if he cares or not."

"He won't be your teacher for ever."

That was true, but... he'd known her since she was eleven. That was a bit creepy, wasn't it? Part of the reason for speaking to him at the Christmas party had been to try and get him to see her as an adult, but she had no idea if it had worked or not, and it was still weird. Hermione bit her lip, floundering.

Harry grinned. "I'm not sure I've ever been right this many times at once before. This is cool. Okay, we'll leave Negatives for a bit, because this is really creeping me out a bit and I want to hear some Positives to help me make sense of this. Why do you like him?"

"Well..."

He poked the stick into the snow on the Negative side of the grid. "He's a bastard."

"Not to me, not any more – well, most of the time, at least. And he has admitted that he's a bastard, in pretty much almost those exact words."

"He's a Death Eater."

"Not a loyal one. He's on our side."

"He's ugly as sin."

"Harry!"

"Sorry, but he is. He's the greasy git, after all. His hair is gross, his teeth are pretty horrible, and that nose..."

"Most of that isn't his fault. I actually don't mind his nose, it suits him, in a weird way. He can't help his teeth, not really, and his hair is – well, it's complicated, but his self-neglect is a psychological thing, and I think stress has a lot to do with it as well. And he does wash regularly, because he doesn't smell bad."

"I suppose that's true, although I can't say I've really paid attention to how he smells before. I guess I'd notice if he stank, though. Okay. He's still ugly."

"He's not pretty. I don't think that's the same thing. I'm not that bothered about looks anyway... look at me."

"Don't be stupid. Plenty of people here fancy you. You're really pretty, Hermione; you never used to be, but you are. And don't make me say stuff like this to you again. It's weird. So why don't you think he's ugly? What do you like about him?"

"His voice," she replied instantly. "And his eyes. And his hands."

"His _hands_?"

"It's one of those weird girl things you won't understand."

"...Okay then. So, you don't care about his age or his looks or his personality. He is your teacher, but that won't be for ever. And even though I hate him, he is very smart, which obviously you'd like. He's apparently sort of almost a – a hero, although I still don't trust him and I don't think we know everything, but whatever. You are both pretty sarcastic, now I think about it. So even though it's bizarre, I can see why you might like him, sort of, and he's got plenty of reasons to like you."

"I can't believe you're saying this. Who are you, and what have you done with Harry Potter?"

"See, that's exactly my point. Sarcasm. Don't get me wrong, part of me wants to throw up, and part of me wants to start screaming at you. But it does make sense, in a creepy way, and... I dunno, I'm tired of fighting with everyone who disagrees with me. You're my friend, Hermione, and I don't like seeing you unhappy, and this thing with Ron is getting to me, and I'm really confused about whose side Snape's really on."

"God, you're cute when you're frustrated," she told him wryly. "If it helps, I'm as confused as you are about some of this."

"No, it doesn't help. You're supposed to be the one with the answers. You're letting me down here." He gave her a lopsided smile. "So will you try and make up with Ron?"

"If he stops being such a jerk about things, then yes, I suppose so," she conceded with a sigh. She was still angry with him, but it was a small price to pay to have Harry on her side, especially with so much to sort out. Such as what the hell she was supposed to do now. It had taken the best part of a year to reach this state of uneasy friendship; it had taken a lot of work to get to the point where Snape didn't hate her. She was pretty sure anything else was going to take more than she was capable of.

"Okay. I'll ask him to stop showing off so much. I think he'll be glad of the excuse to be honest... Lavender's all right, I suppose, but she's not much of a conversationalist," Harry said dryly, grinning at her and standing up.

Despite herself, she sniggered. "What, is Won-Won getting tired?"

He laughed with her. "I don't know how I manage to keep a straight face. You should have seen the Christmas present she got him..."

"Tell me," she said eagerly, standing and brushing the snow off her trousers as they started walking again. His description of the necklace made her laugh, and from there he moved on to telling her about the Minister's visit; she spent the rest of the afternoon with him bitching about Scrimgeour, relieved to have her best friend back properly.

* * *

><p>That night she was sitting quietly working on Snape's birthday present when Dilys showed up. "What now?" she asked tiredly.<p>

"Nothing," the portrait assured her. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. It doesn't always have to be a crisis to make me want to talk to you, dear, and the holidays were a bit rough for all of us."

"That's an understatement, but I think I'm okay. What's he up to this evening?"

"Sulking, mostly," Dilys said cheerfully. "He's been doing quite a lot of that since before Christmas. Don't take it personally."

"I'm trying not to. I think I might understand why he was acting like that, at least partly. I suppose it's a good thing, from some angles... I don't know, I'm a bit confused about everything right now."

"Ah... you've finally worked it out, then?"

Hermione twisted around and made a face at the portrait. "I suppose you saw it coming ages ago."

"Yes. Then again, I've had a very long time to study human nature, and I've known Severus since he was eleven; the two of you are potentially very well suited, if we can overcome your insecurity and his infuriating stubbornness and pessimism. You've chosen well."

She grimaced and turned back to what she was doing. "It's pretty to think so, but I can't see anything coming of it."

"Oh, nonsense. You've still got a lot to learn about men in general, Hermione, and this man in particular. He was hooked a long time ago, I promise you, even if he is as much in denial as you are – probably more so, actually. You'll get there eventually."

"Assuming he doesn't die before then," Hermione said moodily. The afternoon had cheered her up, but it hadn't taken long for her mood to take a downturn again. She wasn't normally so pessimistic by nature, but this really was a hopeless situation. Besides, her period was due, and that always made her miserable.

"Oh, there's no talking to either of you at the moment," the portrait said in cheerfully mocking disgust. "You're as bad as each other. If I were still alive I'd just lock the pair of you in somewhere until you sorted it out between you, but I don't think Poppy would go for that idea – don't look like that, she doesn't know, or at least I don't think she does. She won't say anything anyway; she doesn't meddle as much as I do."

"Dilys, please, go away. I've got enough to think about already without your teasing me."

"All right, all right, but you're worrying about nothing, you know."

_I wish I was so certain._

* * *

><p><em>Credit for the capsaicin idea goes to <strong>Mother of Tears. <strong>Gorgeous piano-playing fan art from **Urrika: **_arriku dot deviantart dot com /gallery/#/d4h83u_  
><em>


	22. Chapter 22

__Now, what does this new year hold, we ask?  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong>"Happiness, more or less<br>It's just a change in me  
>Something in my liberty<br>Oh, my, my; Happiness  
>Coming and going<br>I watch you look at me  
>Watch my fever growing..."<strong>  
>– The Verve, 'Lucky Man'.<p>

* * *

><p>After a sleepless night, Hermione spent most of the day and the evening hiding in the library being thankful that term hadn't started again yet. It was easy to avoid looking at the staff table at meals, since she usually did. Hopefully by the time she had to see Snape once more she would have stopped panicking. At least she knew a bit about Occlumency – it wouldn't stop him for a minute if he was seriously trying to read her, of course, but if she didn't give him any reason to look through her head she didn't need to worry about a stray thought betraying her. And she had spent enough time with him to learn to keep her expression under control, at least a little bit. If she could stay calm, she might be able to stop him finding out; she didn't want to think about what would happen if he did.<p>

She was exhausted by the time she finally slunk back to Gryffindor Tower with about a minute to spare before curfew, hoping that she could just go to sleep without worrying herself sick half the night again, but her hopes were dashed when she saw Harry and Ron sitting by the fire and clearly waiting for her. She really wasn't in the mood tonight.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked tiredly. _Can't I just go to bed and pretend my life is normal? Please?_

"This is important, Hermione. I had another meeting with Dumbledore tonight and I need to tell you and Ron about it."

Taking a moment, she studied her friend's face; he looked excited, and after a short pause her curiosity outweighed her weariness and worry. Nodding, she went over to them and took her usual seat, twisting slightly so she didn't have to look at Ron. "Okay, fire away."

"Well, I found out why I have to get Slughorn to like me. The memory Dumbledore showed me was one of his, only part of it was – I don't know, missing, or altered, or something. He'd changed a bit of it. Apparently people can do that?"

"Don't look at me. I don't know anything more about Occlumency than the stuff I taught you."

For a horrible moment she thought Harry was going to grin or even start sniggering, but he behaved himself, apparently more interested in talking about this memory than in teasing – which was just as well, given the mood she was in. "Anyway, it was of a meeting of his Slug Club, back when Riddle was his student."

Ron made a disparaging noise at mention of the club, but held his tongue when Harry glared at him. Hermione kept her eyes on Harry and tried not to react; she had a headache and she really was too tired for this.

"The other students all left, and Riddle stayed back to ask Slughorn a question about a type of magic called a Horcrux," Harry said, watching her face expectantly. "Have you ever heard of it?"

She gave him a blank look, racking her brains for a moment; it didn't sound familiar. "No. Should I?"

"Well, probably not, I guess. It's really rare and something to do with the Dark Arts. But you find all kinds of weird references when you're reading, so I just wondered. Anyway, that was when the memory changed – it all went really foggy and strange, and Slughorn was yelling that he didn't know what it was and wouldn't have told Riddle if he did. So Dumbledore reckons that in the original memory, Slughorn told Riddle what a Horcrux is and how it works."

"Did Dumbledore tell you what it was?"

"No." Harry looked thoughtful. "I think he was trying to pretend he didn't know, but I'm not sure I believe him. Whatever it is, it's obviously important. He's asked me to somehow get the original memory off Slughorn to find out what he told Riddle. I guess Voldemort must be doing something involving this Horcrux."

"Just for once, wouldn't it be nice if someone told us something straight out?" she asked wryly, leaning back in her chair and sighing. "It was obviously something bad, if Slughorn was trying to hide the fact that he'd said anything. How are you supposed to get him to admit it? I know we've been trying to turn you into his blue-eyed boy in Potions..." Thanks to Snape, anonymously, and she really didn't want to think about him right now... "But is that going to be good enough?"

"I don't know, but I've got to try. He's mad about me," Harry said wryly, grinning as his friends grimaced. "Yeah, I know, but I'm the _Chosen One, _right? He liked my mum, too, she was one of his favourite students, he's told me that often enough."

_Well, she worked with a Potions prodigy for years in class, _Hermione told herself uncharitably before biting her lip and mentally rebuking herself. _Don't be stupid. _Lily would have been good at Potions in her own right anyway; intelligence wasn't something you could pick up from your friends, or she wouldn't still be having to help Harry and Ron out occasionally. Besides, just because Snape disliked Slughorn didn't necessarily mean that Slughorn had disliked Snape. _Damnit, why can't I concentrate on something apart from him?_

Wrenching her thoughts back to calm fog, she shrugged. "All right, then. I don't see what this is supposed to tell us, though. Okay, a Horcrux is apparently something rare, but I'm sure Riddle could have found out anything he liked in all these years. How does it help to know how long ago he started to learn? And why can't Dumbledore just go and find out what it is himself, assuming he doesn't know already?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea," he said cheerfully. "It's daft, isn't it? But there's got to be a reason."

Hermione only shrugged again in answer; she wasn't convinced. She didn't know Dumbledore, really – she'd only spoken to him maybe half a dozen times in as many years – but she wasn't sure Harry did either, for all their apparent closeness. She'd been doing a lot of thinking ever since their first year and the Philosopher's Stone, and she wasn't at all sure that the Headmaster was as nice as he seemed. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but still, a lot of the things that had happened to the three of them over the years shouldn't have happened. And, too, it came back to Snape, who was obviously suffering because of something the Headmaster had asked him to do. She wasn't sure how much she really trusted the man they were all depending on, which scared her.

"I guess so," she said finally. "Look, I'm glad you told us, and I'll take a look through the Restricted Section next time I'm in the library, not that I'm expecting to find anything, and I'll try and help you think of a way to get the memory off Slughorn. But can it wait until tomorrow? I'm absolutely shattered."

Harry nodded; his green eyes were wide and innocent in a way that instantly made her suspicious. "Sure. I'm about ready to drop myself. I'll see you in the morning," he said quickly, jumping up and all but bolting for the stairs – and leaving her alone with Ron, she realised.

"Harry James Potter," she started angrily, but he was already gone, scrambling out of sight. _Stupid Seeker reflexes._

Ruefully, she finally looked at Ron, who didn't look much happier than she was. "He's still as subtle as a brick, isn't he. I'll see you in the morning, I suppose."

"Hermione, wait."

Suppressing a sigh, she rubbed her eyes and looked at him; she really wasn't in the mood to fight now, especially since as it turned out there wasn't really a reason for it. "Yes?"

He gave her a somewhat guilty, awkwardly crooked smile. "Um... can we talk? I know you said you were tired, but... well, we've got to sort this out sometime, right?"

About to say something, she paused and gave him a suspicious look. "Did Harry put you up to this?"

Ron went red. "Er. Maybe? We – we kind of had a long talk earlier..."

Suspicion gave way to ice cold certainty, which yielded just as quickly to rage. "I'm going to kill him! Oh, Christ, what's he told you?" _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_

He held up his hands. "It's not his fault," he said weakly. "I don't think he meant to, you know? We were talking about – well, about you, and me, and then..." He swallowed at the look on her face, reddening again. "It's true, then? I thought he was winding me up at first, but... like I said, it was quite a long talk. Er. Hermione. You look like you're going to kill someone. Hermione?"

Taking a deep breath and holding it, she forced herself to relax a bit. Realising that she was holding her wand pointed at him, she put it back inside her robe, privately quite pleased at her reflexes, and made an effort to fill her mind with fog again as she sank back in her chair. "If I do kill someone it's probably going to be Harry, not you, but I'm really not in the mood for a fight right now so please watch what you're about to say." She sighed unhappily. "I can't believe he actually told you."

"I can't believe it's really true," Ron muttered. "_Snape?_"

"Don't say his name," she said tiredly. "We're probably safe here, but I don't want to take the chance. If word of this gets out... it doesn't bear thinking about."

He gave her an odd look, but shrugged and nodded. "Okay. I won't tell anyone, if that helps. Anyway, Harry was..." He blushed again, and this time the red made it all the way to the tips of his ears. "Well, he wanted to find out how I – how I felt about you, like... uh..."

Watching him squirm was actually quite funny, Hermione noted dispassionately. It was tempting to leave him floundering, but as he really started to stammer she took pity on him. "He was asking why you were trying to make me jealous and whether it was because you were jealous of me or if it was just because that's what was supposed to happen, yes? He had the same talk with me before that." She smiled a little uncertainly at him, trying to work out when the odd tingle had gone that she had once felt about him. It had faded a long time ago, without her even noticing. "Weird, isn't it?"

He struggled for a moment, looking just as uncertain, before grinning suddenly. "What, Harry thinking? Yeah, that _is _weird."

They shared a laugh, and she felt better for it as a little bit of tension eased. "You know I didn't mean that."

"No, I know." His grin faded and he looked thoughtful. Ron did have a brain, when he bothered to use it, after all. "Yeah, it's weird. I mean, I kind of – just assumed that someday we'd work something out, you know?"

She nodded. "So did I. It seemed like that was how things were going to work out. But Harry's right, you know – it would have been a disaster, wouldn't it? I mean, what would we even do on a date, let alone if we started having a proper relationship? We can barely go a day without arguing, and apart from schoolwork, the war, and Harry, we don't really talk about anything much."

He nodded ruefully in agreement. "He said that too. He's been thinking about it for ages, apparently. And he's right. We'd bore each other rigid, and then we'd have a flaming row, and then we'd ignore each other for days. We'd end up hating each other."

"I think part of the problem is that I don't talk to the other boys here very much," she said pensively. "I don't think anyone here really believed Skeeter's crap because it's obvious Harry and I don't like each other like that, and although I chat to Neville sometimes we're not really friends, so since you're my only other male friend everyone assumed I'd end up going out with you. Because obviously a boy and a girl can't just be friends."

He grinned at her tone. "You've got to admit, Hermione, you've never seemed interested in anyone. You've never acted like..." He hesitated, obviously realising that he was about to say something stupid.

"Like a girl?" she asked sweetly.

Ron grimaced. "Um. I don't mean it quite the way it sounds, but I can't think of how else to say it, so... yeah."

She shrugged. "Because I wasn't interested. I don't really have anything in common with many people. I know what everyone thinks when they see me, but I like being a bookworm and sitting reading quietly and I'm not good in crowded parties and I can't be bothered to get dressed up all the time."

"Okay, I guess I can see that, but none of the other girls here seem to think that way, so nobody really understands it..."

"I know, Ron. Believe me, I know. After six years of it, I know." Even at primary school, she'd been the freak. It still hurt, a bit, but not as much as it had done once. "It doesn't matter, anyway. The point is, you and I are never going to get together and we both needed to realise that."

"Yeah." He nodded slowly, sighed, sat back and gave her another guilty grin. "Um. I'm sorry for being such a jerk recently."

She really, really wanted to make him squirm, to stay angry, but she did sort of miss him, and she had to admit to her own share of guilt. "I'm sorry for kneeing you; I didn't realise just how painful that was. But I'm not sorry for much else, because you've been really horrible."

"I know."

"No, Ron, I don't think you do," she said quietly. "I'm not just talking about me. I don't like Lavender, I never have, I never will, and she doesn't like me, and she's really enjoyed rubbing my nose in this. But that's not the point. You've been using her to hurt me, and that's not fair to either of us. I think she really likes you, you know. If you're not really interested, you should stop it before it gets out of hand." With the best will in the world, she couldn't stop herself adding, "Well, more out of hand, _sweetheart._"

"Oh, Merlin," he muttered, blushing again. "I never meant it to happen, you know. I just..."

"If you say you just got carried away I'll kick you again, and this time I'll mean it," she said warningly, giving him a stern look. "Imagine what would happen if your mum heard you say that." _More than that, I really, really don't want to know._

He blanched. "Point taken. No, that's not what I was going to say. I don't know. I... I think I like her, but sometimes..."

Hermione held up a hand. "Don't, Ron, okay? I can talk to Harry about his love life, but I don't think I can do it with you, not yet anyway. It's just too strange. Talk to Ginny, if you want help. She'll tease you, a lot, but she'll help and she won't tell anyone else."

He nodded slowly. "Fair enough, then." Hesitating, he gave her an odd look. "Snape, though?"

"I told you not to say his name." Apart from anything else, her brain waves flat-lined every time he did. She wasn't sure she'd ever been so confused. Pausing, she gave him a suspicious stare. "This calm reaction isn't like you. Why are you being so reasonable? What happened when Harry told you?" She'd known him too long to trust this apparent maturity.

He went red to the ear tips again and grinned ruefully. "There was a lot of yelling," he admitted. "And swearing. And, uh, an accidental fire. Harry had to throw me into a snowdrift and hold me down with my face buried in the snow until I calmed down a bit. But you've got to admit it's weird..."

"I know," she agreed with a sigh. "It's not like I wanted it to happen. Did Harry tell you why I trust him?"

"A little bit. He said the Healing thing was more than you'd told us, and that you'd been seeing more of him than you'd said, and that there was other stuff he'd promised not to tell anyone. And when I'd calmed down a bit, we sort of talked about it. Until we were both sick, anyway."

"Not funny."

"Sorry," he said insincerely. "But... he really has been thinking about this for ages, you know. He had this big list of things you've got in common, and... it's horrible, and wrong on every single level, but it does kind of make sense. Except for the part where you're blind, anyway. At least Lockhart was pretty."

"Oh, shut up."

"How does he feel about you?"

"I have no idea. None whatsoever. It seems to change every time I see him." Shaking her head, she smiled a little despite herself. "Sometimes I'm the insufferable know-it-all he's spent years trying to suppress in class, and everything I do or say annoys him. Sometimes I'm his Healer, when he's too tired or hurt to argue any more and just does what he's told. Sometimes we actually get along all right, weird as it sounds."

Ron looked vaguely ill, but bravely made himself keep talking. "Do you think he... likes you?"

"No. Why would he?"

"Are you serious?" He'd gone red yet again, but his blue eyes were incredulous.

"Don't start. Harry was trying this as well. I know he's been acting weirdly, but he usually does. I'm seventeen and a schoolgirl, Ron. Sometimes we get along, but I get along with most of my teachers – it just took me a bit longer to get to that point with him, that's all. There's nothing there. I've just got to deal with it." Smiling with a bravado she didn't feel, she added untruthfully, "I'm sure I'll come to my senses soon. Lockhart wore off pretty quickly in the end. Anyway, I'm glad we've sorted things out, but if I don't get to bed soon I'm going to pass out, so let's call it a night. By the sound of it we're going to be having a few late nights with Harry trying to work this memory stuff out."

"Yeah, okay. I'm glad we're sorted too."

"Do warn Harry that I'm going to want a little chat with him in the morning, please, and if he tries to hide I'll hurt him. I don't care what his reasons were; I'm sure he was only trying to help, but he shouldn't have told you, and if he tells anyone else I'm going to skin him alive." All it would take was one silly argument, one wrong word in the heat of the moment, and the whole school would find out and then she would have to kill herself. She trusted Ron when he was her friend, but when they were fighting he was capable of anything.

"I'll tell him. Good night."

"Night."

* * *

><p>Despite her exhaustion, Hermione couldn't sleep when she got to bed. Snuggling down as comfortably as she could – she still missed having Crookshanks sprawled across her legs and purring – she closed her eyes and tried to sort out her tangled thoughts. Ron, she could ignore – she was seriously surprised that he was so accepting, and wondering what on earth Harry had done to him, and she was pleased to have more or less patched things up, but it really wasn't all that important, horrible as that sounded, and she had other things to think about. Hopefully it would last for a while before they had another fight, but until then she had other people on her mind. One man in particular kept creeping back into her thoughts, and it was driving her mad.<p>

She had tried to convince herself this was just another Lockhart-esque silly crush. Harry was right in hindsight that she was always likely to have been interested in older men, simply because she really had nothing in common with anyone her own age, and for the past two or three years Snape had been the only male at Hogwarts between the ages of eighteen and at least sixty, and now that she had reached the end of puberty her hormones were only just beginning to settle into adult levels.

That all made perfect sense, but it was also rubbish, because Snape really wasn't remotely attractive. He had plenty of potential, and as she had admitted to Harry she liked his voice, his eyes and his hands, but... well, he looked ill. More than that, he looked half dead. She was pretty sure you couldn't develop a shallow crush on someone's personality – not that his personality was much to write home about either, she admitted, smiling to herself in the darkness. He was a bastard, after all. But somehow, it didn't seem to matter. Despite all his many flaws, she liked him, and there was something rather sweet about his occasional awkwardness when he tried to act like a normal human being.

Whether or not she fancied him was complicated, because she wasn't sure she had ever really felt like that about anyone. Lockhart emphatically did not count, and although she'd liked Viktor – and liked kissing him – her feelings at the time hadn't been as she had imagined they would be, and the odd way she'd felt about Ron didn't seem like it counted either, and she'd certainly felt nothing of the sort about Cormac. Most of the time when she saw Snape she wanted to drag him to the hospital wing, in all honesty. She wanted to look after him, more than anything else.

Maybe if she'd ever really had a proper boyfriend she'd know a bit more about her emotions, she reflected quietly. She had no idea how she was meant to feel. It was impossible to tell how deep this went because she had nothing to compare it to, and it would clearly take a lot more thought to straighten things out in her mind. In the meantime she could admit that she liked him a lot and that she would very much like a chance to find out more, although such a chance was surely non-existent. For the moment her best strategy seemed to be to try not to think about it too much, filling her thoughts with fog every time they strayed, and to try and act normally when she started seeing him more often at the start of term in a few days.

Of course, it was worth remembering that this wasn't going to be a normal crush anyway, because he wasn't a normal man. Part of her was scared of what she was getting herself into. Snape was brave and intelligent and in his own way he could be sort of nice, or at least somewhat protective, but... he was also rather disturbed in some ways and pretty seriously damaged, psychologically and emotionally; she was sure she'd only barely scratched the surface of his problems in the last year or so. And he was a mass-murderer, too; whatever the reasons behind that, he had killed people. A small part of her did feel relieved that there was so obviously no chance of him returning any feelings, just because of all the complications involved in even trying to have any sort of relationship with someone so broken. Just being his friend was usually difficult enough. She didn't believe he would ever hurt her willingly, at least, but that wasn't going to be much comfort if something did go horribly wrong.

There was Lily, too. Okay, everything she suspected there was just that, unfounded suspicions, but she was still certain that she was right. However it had started, by now it must have developed into obsession; she was beginning to think that it was probably almost all that kept Snape going. No moral code in the world was strong enough to make anyone endure what he went through, but revenge for a murdered loved one? That made sense. It also meant she really didn't stand a chance, which part of her couldn't help thinking was probably for the best. She really did like Snape, certainly more than she should, but there was no way she could cope with the reality of who he was, surely. She knew she had only seen a small part of the story, and there could be anything behind the shadows in his eyes.

Rolling over and settling deeper into the bed, she slid a hand under her pillow to touch his birthday present thoughtfully. Originally she had planned to give it to him personally, but that wasn't a good idea right now. Take things slowly and give herself time to come to terms with things and to learn more about him, that was the way. They were sort of friends; she thought that could change from 'sort of' to proper friendship, but that would be as far as it went. That was okay, though. It sounded pretty good to her, actually, if she could manage it.

* * *

><p>Wearily, Severus began to sort through his post between gulps of too-hot, too-strong coffee. He was quite surprised to find that he had any, actually, despite the fact that it was the ninth of January once again; he wasn't expecting anything from anyone. He still hadn't bothered telling most of his colleagues when his birthday was, and Poppy still hopefully had the sense not to try and give him anything, and given that Dumbledore hadn't bothered with a Christmas present this year he wasn't expecting anything from his employer either. Lucius had offered to give him some sort of fancy gourmet aged whiskey, but he had refused since it was absolutely wasted on someone with his drinking habits.<p>

There wasn't much. The latest copy of _Pozioni _(the Italians had produced some wonderful potioneers over the centuries, although his Italian was rather lacking, sketchy at best, and it could take the whole month to work his way through one issue); the _Prophet, _still not worth the materials it was made from; his Flourish & Blott's catalogue; and a small object wrapped in cheap parchment and sealed with candle wax, addressed simply to Professor Snape, that made him narrow his eyes suspiciously even though he was reasonably sure he knew who was behind the attempt to disguise the writing.

"I'm getting as paranoid as Moody," he muttered, even as he drew his wand from his sleeve and passed it slowly back and forth over the innocent little package. There was something in there that had been enchanted quite strongly, but the magic seemed self-contained rather than radiating outward and it certainly didn't feel hostile. In fact, it felt vaguely familiar, although he couldn't remember where from at this hour of the morning. Paranoia warred with curiosity before he went with his instincts, putting his wand down and picking up the small parcel, turning it over in his fingers. There was something small and hard and circular inside... Giving in to temptation, he tore the flimsy parchment open and blinked in momentary confusion.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting – although he couldn't deny a rather tragic flutter of childish anticipation at the first birthday present he'd had in probably about ten years – but this wasn't really it; he wasn't the kind of person that people bought jewellery for. Slowly he picked up the copper bangle and examined it. It was plain, simple, but well made – not the cheap crap you saw in pharmacies to allegedly protect the wearer from rheumatism; he could see the subtle ripples in the metal, the depth of colour as the light caught it.

Turning it over again, he noted that there was some engraving on the inside of the bracelet and looked closer. There was nothing fancy about it at all, just a single word: _Protego. _He stared at it for a moment, then understanding dawned and he reached for his wand again.

"_Arcanum specialis revelio,_" he murmured, studying the resulting play of light around and through the copper. Protective spells, and lots of them. Some were specifically designed to block certain types of hex or curse, others were more general, and many were related to healing; there was even blood magic threading through it somewhere. He stared at it for some time, following the complex layers of magic slowly; it was powerful, and impressive. And by far the best thing anyone had ever given him.

"_Finite,_" he whispered after a while, swallowing as he turned his attention to the wrapping. There was no note, and the simple address on the outside had been printed very carefully and anonymously, but he knew who it was from anyway. Only one person would even think of the idea in the first place, let alone actually make the damned thing and wrap it in so many layers of protective magic.

Severus realised somewhat to his horror that he was alarmingly close to tears. He hadn't really cried since the terrible night when Lily had died, well over a decade ago now; even before that, he had seldom done so – one reason why the Marauders' nickname for him had so annoyed him; _they _had certainly never seen him cry. But now his throat was tight with that horrible achy, scratchy feeling, and his eyes were stinging. He remembered New Year again rather uncomfortably; he'd nearly collapsed and started sobbing in the snow, just from finally having a way to ease some of the cold and the hurt as well as from the knowledge that someone had cared enough to find an answer, and now he was on the edge of tears again. "Well, damn," he whispered hoarsely, gulping the rest of his coffee to try and ease it, shivering as he reached out and picked up the band again. It was a beautiful thing in its own right, and it was likely to be useful in the near future.

Clearing his throat irritably and swallowing again, he gently flexed the metal in his hands, carefully bending it open before tightening it again once it was over his bony wrist. After some thought, he rolled up his sleeve and slid the bracelet up his right arm and closed it more tightly around his forearm, snug against his skin out of the way, darkly amused for a moment to note that if he'd put it on his left arm instead it would have been directly over the Dark Mark. After a little more thought he picked up his wand and Disillusioned it, laying a glamour over it similar to the one he occasionally used to hide the worst of his scars; it was definitely a good idea to keep this hidden.

Tugging his sleeves down over it once more, he flexed his arm to feel the band, still not really sure what to make of this. If he'd spared even a moment's thought to speculate about whether or not anyone would acknowledge his birthday, he might have hazarded that she would send him a note wishing him many happy returns or something as she had done at Christmas, but he hadn't been expecting a gift and he certainly could never have anticipated anything like this.

He made his way up to the Great Hall for breakfast in a very thoughtful frame of mind, and could feel her eyes on him almost from the moment he entered the room. Taking his seat, he grunted vague acknowledgement of Minerva's usual cheerful greeting, concentrating on getting some food that wouldn't leave him nauseous later, and when he decided that an appropriate interval had passed he risked glancing very briefly towards the Gryffindor table. He met her eyes for less than a second, but it was long enough for her to give him a smile that lit up the whole damned room before they both looked away.

_You're going to be the death of me yet, Granger. _And yet, he still found himself fighting not to smile in answer as he concentrated on his breakfast once more, feeling off balance and worried and yet inexplicably happy.

* * *

><p>That evening, Severus made a belated New Year's resolution, for the first time in years. Filled with almost manic energy, he went through his rooms with a fine tooth comb, assembling all his drugs and medicines and every scrap of alcohol he possessed, before rather brutally beginning to purge the stash. All the booze went; he'd given up drink before, more than once just since the war had broken out, but he'd never stuck to it before. It was time to seriously pack it in, he'd decided; even the rubbing alcohol he used occasionally as a disinfectant was poured away.<p>

The next step was the locked metal box in the cabinet beside his bed. Dragging it out, he sat on the sagging edge of the mattress and disabled the wards and locks protecting it; there were enough things in here to earn him several life sentences in the Muggle world. Actually, everything in here right now was of Muggle origin; he wasn't taking many potions or magical substances at all. Not many of them worked any more, and there were very few potions that did anything Muggle pills couldn't do with less effort, at least in his circumstances.

Thoughtfully he picked up a small, dusty brown bottle, regarding it sardonically. This was what Poppy and Dilys were afraid of, he knew that; this innocent little bottle held quite a lot of pure quality heroin. During the very worst of the last war and its horrifying aftermath, it had been the only thing that penetrated the numb crackling shell shock and the only thing capable of distracting him from the pain. For that reason, he'd been tempted to use it again, but he hadn't. Partly because he remembered what a bitch the withdrawal had been, partly because he didn't like the way it actually made him feel, but mostly out of some weird principle that even he didn't understand and a vague sense that he would be letting people down.

Holding the bottle up to the light, he studied the contents critically; it probably wasn't any good now, although he didn't actually know if it had an expiry date or not. Most people used it as soon as they got it, after all. No, get rid of it. He didn't plan to use it and he wasn't going to keep testing himself in case he weakened. He dropped it on the floor and Vanished the mess before he had a chance to change his mind, and kept going.

There were all sorts of drugs in here. The hallucinogens went; he didn't need them any more, but his Occlumency hadn't been strong enough in the first war and he hadn't been sure whether they would be necessary this time. The worst of the painkillers went, too; they were addictive and it wasn't worth the risk. He couldn't afford to be dependent on anything, even chemicals. He got rid of some of the medicines, the ones that his body was building up a resistance to; a high enough dose to do anything would cause more problems than it would fix.

Severus paused to consider the little collection of uppers and stimulants, ranging from caffeine pills to amphetamines, narrowing his eyes. He should get rid of them, but he did need them sometimes, at least the amps. The milder stuff could go, since it didn't really work any more, but after days of no sleep and hard work he sometimes needed a couple of pills to keep going until he got a chance to rest. It wasn't a good idea, especially given all the side effects, but there wasn't always much choice. Sorting through, he put the strongest ones back in the box and Vanished the rest.

The antibiotics didn't really need to be in the box, since they weren't strictly speaking illegal, but he hadn't obtained them lawfully. Closing his eyes for a moment, he mentally reviewed everything he was taking; these little tablets could clear up his ulcer and several other little problems, but only if they didn't react with something else. No, he should be safe to start a course of them, if he was careful and watched for side effects; they went back in the box. The blood pressure pills were going to be a problem, now that he was working on isolating capsaicin to take; it was going to give him a cough, and possibly some other side effects that he didn't know about. On the other hand, a stroke was more serious than that; back in the box with them, because they were necessary. He'd have to remember not to take them too close to any of the uppers, though.

Slowly he picked out a couple of bottles from the corner of the box and held them up, regarding them pensively. He should get rid of these, too. It was horribly, horribly dangerous to self-medicate on anti-depressants, but he didn't know what else to do. They did help, a little, and he couldn't exactly go to a Muggle doctor and talk about why he was depressed, could he? He'd either be arrested or committed in short order. There weren't any wizarding equivalents, not really. Some potions could temporarily even out erratic moods and stabilise various hormones and chemicals in the brain and the blood stream, but you'd have to drink a hell of a lot of them. Finally he decided to put them back in the box, but to cut his current dose in half and try to find an alternative.

Once he had finished purging the contents of his medical store, he sat down and began to run through diagnostic charms by the dozen, patiently and thoroughly drawing up a full picture of everything that was wrong with him physically at the moment, before sorting out his remaining medicines. He had too many problems to treat them all; he'd die of toxic shock syndrome if he tried taking that many things at once, but he finally worked out everything in order of severity and arranged a new regime of medicines. He'd been ignoring too many health problems for too long; it was time to pull himself together properly.

Finally, past midnight, he moved into the bathroom and flicked his wand to cast a harsh and unforgiving light, illuminating his gaunt features as he extended the mirror to full length and stripped off. _I might have bitten off more than I can chew here, _he told himself mockingly, studying his reflection; there wasn't exactly much to work with, after all. His eyes flicked briefly and dispassionately over his body; far too damned thin, he looked like a famine victim, or someone with anorexia. He could count his ribs, but that was just the start; he could lay his fingers in the spaces between them. His hip bones looked like they were about to slice through his skin, and his cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken – his face looked more like a skull. And God, he really was turning yellow, between bruises; the jaundice was gaining ground as his liver struggled to cope. Too many scars, but that didn't bother him too much. He didn't have many actual injuries at the moment, and for once none of them were infected, so they could be left alone.

As for the rest... well, the less said about his appearance, the better. He stared somewhat resentfully into the eyes of his reflection and shook his head slowly. It wasn't the thinness or the liver failure that made him look like this. Too many deep lines on his face, from stress and pain and lack of sleep and a near-permanent lack of anything to smile about. Too many grey hairs – all right, only one or two, but he was only thirty seven and far too young to be going grey. Damnit, he could pass for fifty easily, probably older. And that still wasn't the worst of it. There was nothing he could do about the nose, that had been inherited from his father and he was stuck with it. Not much he could do about the teeth, either – he did clean them daily, even if nobody would believe it to look at them, and it wasn't as if he ever smiled so nobody would actually see. And the hair was probably a lost cause... he'd never been able to get it looking particularly presentable, so he'd long since given up trying, and then later he'd given up caring. He still showered daily – he wasn't a tramp – but...

Still, he could improve things a bit, at least as long as he didn't let himself think about why he was doing so. Rather grimly, he set to work. By the time he made it to bed, his gums were tender and bleeding and his scalp was sore and tingling and he already wanted a drink, but he was feeling better. No doubt it wouldn't last, and even if it did it wouldn't change anything, but it was about time he started actually looking after himself a bit. After all, nobody else was going to.

Besides, in a strange way he felt obliged to do this. His birthday present had showed him that for whatever twisted and bizarre reason, Hermione Granger actually gave a damn what happened to him and wanted him to be safe. He felt he should somehow repay her for that by making a bit more of an effort to stay alive for as long as he could manage. All right, there were other people who cared what happened to him, a little, but she was the only one he could be absolutely certain had chosen to. Poppy, Minerva, any other colleagues who might care, they all had a stake in his surviving long enough to do what was necessary, they all needed him. _She _didn't, not really. She'd chosen to worry about him, so he supposed the least he could do in return was try and ease her worry a little bit.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until the first day of the new term some days later that he was able to thank her for his present, when she showed up in the dungeons as usual for their morning runs once more. Not for the first time, Severus cursed his appalling lack of social skills. He always felt so damned self-conscious whenever he tried to do something normal like thanking someone for a gift. Partly it was lack of experience, he supposed, but surely that couldn't account for all of it. The fact that it was <em>her <em>didn't help, either, but at least he could blame any strangeness on the ungodly early hour.

Something about her behaviour had seemed a bit strange, but it wasn't until a week had passed that he was sure he wasn't mistaken. She was definitely acting slightly differently. Nothing overt, nothing he could really put his finger on, but there was a certain hesitance about her and he was sure she was watching him more than usual. It bothered him in a way he couldn't explain. It wasn't just her, either; Weasley kept giving him funny looks in lessons, and Potter was really acting strangely – well, more so than usual, anyway. If it had just been Potter he could have put it down to overspill from that memorable fighting lesson, but if all three of them were acting strangely then he wanted to be alert to whatever they were planning now.

She broke their usual silence one morning after the warm-down, when he finally and with some reluctance picked up the bottle he'd left by the door and opened it to take a drink. "God! What on earth is that?" she asked.

He gave the bottle a look; it didn't look particularly pretty. The stuff was thick and syrupy, a not very appetising muddy brownish green, and it smelled like it had been scooped off the bottom of a pond somewhere. "A trial run. You might call it a health tonic, I suppose. If you were a masochist."

"Tell me it tastes better than it smells."

He shook his head gloomily, briefly amused by her reaction. "It tastes worse. If it does what it's supposed to, I can try adding other things to improve the taste, but there's no point yet."

"What on earth is in it?" she asked; he handed her the bottle so she could look at it more closely.

"Quite a lot of things. Including chilli extract," he replied, secretly pleased with the surprised smile that earned him. "It is supposed to be a kind of combined healing potion that will treat more than one problem at once; as you may have noticed, I do have quite a few to choose from," he added dryly, taking the bottle back and forcing another mouthful down before replacing the cap with a grimace. "Thank God for artificial sweeteners, or I wouldn't be able to keep it down."

"You can use sweeteners in potions?" she asked, surprised. "I know sugar doesn't work, but I thought..."

Realising where her mind was going, Severus' lips twitched as he fought not to smile, doing his best to try and look innocent. "Sugar doesn't work, no, but most artificial sweeteners are fine."

She gave him an utterly mischievous grin, her brown eyes sparkling with hidden laughter. "So the Wolfsbane doesn't actually need to taste that horrible?"

Just barely stopping himself from biting his lip in time, he smirked at her. "No."

To his secret delight, she started to laugh; she had a nice laugh, bright and cheerful, and it was a good feeling to realise he was the cause. "Poor Lupin! Your secret is safe with me, sir."

"Oh, I know that," he replied without thinking, which earned him another very pleased smile. Working on the basis of that unexpected success, he remarked as she turned away, "Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Why is Potter acting so peculiarly in Defence lessons?" he asked mildly.

He was impressed; the blush barely got started before she caught it, and if he hadn't been watching for it he wouldn't have noticed under the high colour caused by the exercise and the cold. Her eyes hardly flickered and she made no attempt to bite her lip as she replied calmly, "I really don't know, sir."

_Ha. She always was a fast learner. _Most people wouldn't think that her learning to lie convincingly was a good thing, of course, but he'd always thought it was one of the most useful skills you could possess. Resisting the urge to comment, he raised an eyebrow. "You're lying to me now, aren't you."

"Yes, sir," she admitted, her lips quirking into a wry smile that he appreciated.

More amused than annoyed, he grunted vaguely in response. "Fine. I probably don't want to know anyway. Advise him to be less obvious about whatever is bothering him, if you please."

"Yes, sir," she agreed, turning and making her escape before he could say anything else. He smiled wryly as he watched her leave; she was smart enough to realise he had been speaking of all three of them, not just Potter. Whatever was bothering them all, hopefully it would stop soon, before he worried himself sick wondering what was wrong and whether he had done something. He had enough sources of genuine guilt and actual threats to his sanity as it was, without driving himself mad by acting like an awkward adolescent again.

* * *

><p><em>Hopeless, the pair of them. Absolutely hopeless.<em>_ (Cute, isn't it.)  
><em>


	23. Chapter 23

__A bit more hopeless cuteness for you, before the action picks up next chapter.  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong>"Too many shadows in my room<br>Too many hours in this midnight  
>Too many corners in my mind<br>So much to do to set my heart right**

**Oh, it's taking so long; I could be wrong, I could be ready**  
><strong>Oh but if I take my heart's advice<strong>  
><strong>I should assume it's still unsteady<strong>  
><strong>I am in repair, I am in repair..."<strong>  
>– John Meyer, 'In Repair'.<p>

* * *

><p>It was February before Snape arranged another fighting lesson for the three of them; he seemed to have less free time than ever and was also being Summoned more often, although mercifully he didn't seem to be punished any more frequently, at least not seriously enough to need outside help. The three of them had been practising as much as they could, magically and physically, although admittedly any attempt at non-magical fighting usually ended in helpless laughter. Hermione felt that was doing them as much good as actual combat training would have done; sometimes it was nice to remember that they were still young and could still play. At least, they could after a long conversation where she had grimly and creatively threatened her best friends with a variety of punishments if they deliberately or inadvertently caused anyone to find out... anything they shouldn't. She'd really made Harry grovel and beg for forgiveness over telling Ron anything. At least now the initial shock had worn off they were all back to behaving as normally as possible.<p>

Snape was a few minutes late; when he entered the Room of Requirement, Ron and Hermione were mock-duelling while Harry watched. His black eyes studied them for a moment before he briskly crossed the room, seizing Harry's arm as he passed and towing him to a corner where a heavy leather sack appeared, hanging from the ceiling on a chain. "You're doing better with your temper," he said without ceremony, "but this will help give you an outlet, rather than repressing everything."

"A punch-bag?" Harry said quizzically, blinking at their teacher before suddenly grinning. "I didn't figure you for a boxer, sir."

He snorted. "Mind your tongue. Get started; wearing yourself out will do you good. You haven't been exercising enough. Nor have you, Weasley," he added, turning to the other two. "Let's see what progress you have made, then."

Hermione enjoyed the lesson; she could tell that she was quite a bit better than she had been last time they had had one of these lessons, which was definitely reassuring, but it also meant she could spend some of the time sitting back and watching Snape drilling the boys. Watching him fight had always been wonderful because of the unconscious easy skill and lack of effort he showed, but with her new awareness of him she found herself enjoying watching the grace and balance of his movements as well. He was paying attention to what he was doing, rather than to her, and she was supposed to be watching anyway, so she didn't have to worry about betraying herself as long as she kept her expression clear.

Actually facing him when it was her turn was less fun, but luckily for her he seemed to have accepted a while ago that she didn't want to try and hurt him and he didn't seem to find her attitude particularly unusual. Besides, once she got into the rhythm of it, it was easier to focus on the duel and not on her silly emotions, especially since it took all her concentration to maintain any sort of defence. She was getting better at spotting openings, Snape told her; her attacks weren't getting through yet, but she was definitely better at finding opportunities to attack, and she wasn't being quite so squeamish about it, hesitating less.

Harry and Snape were fighting now, which was always a little tense; the three of them were always constantly waiting for Snape's temper to snap and for him to start trying to hurt Harry, or at least to do something petty and spiteful. Hermione had no idea why he was suddenly making such an effort to behave this year, when he never had before, but she wasn't going to complain even if she was always on tenterhooks waiting for the inevitable crash.

Harry was sweating with the effort of concentration, frantically trying to block everything Snape sent at him, physically dodging the ones he missed and trying to find chances to cast his own offensive spells. He was doing much better this time simply because he wasn't angry, Hermione noted, glancing briefly at him; she was about to look back at Snape for another bit of guilty staring when Harry licked his lips breathlessly and gasped, "_Sectumsempra!_"

Hermione stared at Snape and saw his dark eyes widen in shock before he jumped to one side as red light streaked past him. Everything seemed to freeze for a long moment, before he stalked forward with a look of absolute fury on his face and slapped Harry. Not hard, but hard enough to make his point, and from the way his hands were trembling he wanted to repeat it more forcefully.

His voice was a low hiss of anger and that nerve jumped under his eye as he said coldly, "You have been warned against that spell, or any spell from that book, Potter. Don't you _dare _even think of using any of them against me_._" Hermione winced, wondering quietly when the Marauders had taken the book off him; she already knew they had used Levicorpus on him before.

Harry looked honestly confused, blinking at the older wizard with wide eyes. "How do you know where that spell's from? What does it do, anyway?"

Snape froze, suddenly looking a bit off balance, and turned to stare at Hermione. "You didn't tell them?" he asked in a slightly odd tone of voice.

Offended, she gave him an annoyed look. "Of course I didn't. You asked me not to, and I wouldn't have done anyway even if you hadn't."

The anger in his dark eyes gave way to something like chagrin as he clearly realised he'd just backed himself into a corner; his expression looked like it should be captioned _Oh bugger, _and for a moment Hermione had to bite her lip until the urge to laugh had subsided.

"Didn't tell us what?" Harry asked uncertainly, looking between them in innocent bewilderment.

Grimacing, Snape backed off, looking seriously annoyed with himself as he stalked over to the little cluster of chairs that stood in one corner of their usual training area, picking up his robe and wrapping it around himself before sitting down. "I know where that spell is from because it's written in my old textbook," he admitted in a gruff voice, so obviously angry and embarrassed that for a moment Hermione wanted to ruffle his hair; she could understand why Dilys liked making him sulk now. It was _cute._

The boys gaped at him until Hermione nudged them forward and the three came to sit down opposite him.

"You?" Harry asked faintly. "_You're_ the Half-Blood Prince?"

"You're a half-blood?" Ron asked blankly.

Snape gave the redhead a withering look, although it lacked some of its usual venom. "You at least should already have known that, Weasley. Your family is unconventional but you're still a pureblood and were educated as such; have you ever heard of a wizarding family called Snape?" he asked, sneering.

"_Prince?_" Harry said into the ensuing silence; she hoped he wouldn't grin. Any hint of laughter would only result in his lingering and messy death. Confusion was a lot safer.

Snape looked away with the closed expression that Hermione could recognise as complete embarrassment. "It was my mother's maiden name," he muttered defensively.

"You knew, Hermione?" Harry asked, obviously glad to look away from their teacher.

"Yes. Professor Snape's parents' names and blood status are in his medical records."

There was another awkward silence before Ron asked, "You made up all those spells? _Muffliato _and _Levicorpus _and the rest?"

"Yes," Snape replied shortly, keeping his eyes on the wall and clearly wishing he was somewhere else.

"Cool." He sounded genuinely impressed, and Hermione bit her lip to hide another smile. _Boys._

That earned him a long and expressionless stare, and she didn't need Legilimency to guess that Snape was trying to work out if Ron was being sincere and if he ought to be pleased or not. He wasn't fidgeting, but by the look of things only because he was making a conscious effort not to; he looked extremely uncomfortable, at least to her eyes.

"So what does _Sectumsempra _actually do?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Nothing pleasant," he replied curtly.

"Well, we knew that much," Hermione offered, trying to ease some of the awkwardness. A thought occurred to her. "It's not your cutting curse, is it?"

Snape gave her an angry look, but dropped his eyes almost immediately. "Yes. But that isn't precisely what it is supposed to do. Don't ever use it against someone unless you're in a real duel. It's too dangerous for practices."

"Yes, sir," they chorused immediately.

"I don't even remember what else is written in there," he said after another pause, and Hermione heard the unasked question in his voice.

"I don't remember any more mystery spells in there, sir. The rest was all Potions information, I think. Oh, except for _Langlock _and that toenail hex without a name." Ron and Harry both tried to choke back laughter, and Snape looked marginally more embarrassed before his face shut down and turned to the blank mask of Occlumency.

"Fine," he said shortly.

The silence stretched out for a few minutes, but it was slightly less tense than it had been, and gradually everyone relaxed. Snape stopped looking so annoyed and self-conscious and his expression turned more speculative as he studied each of them through hooded eyes for a little while, before speaking again with a very obvious change of subject.

"Potter, I have a question for you. Who is truly to blame for the death of Sirius Black?"

As always, the reference made Harry flinch, but this time he answered quietly, "I am, sir."

To his obvious surprise, Snape shook his head. "No. I did not press you further last time because that answer was useful at that point in your training, but it is not the truth. Who was to blame?"

Harry thought about it for some time, wheels spinning almost visibly in his head. Hermione knew the answer, or thought she did, but she held her tongue and watched, willing him to work it out. Ron watched silently as well, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Finally, very slowly, Harry said, "He was."

"Yes." Snape leaned forward in his chair, his eyes intent. "Black was an adult. He made his choices of his own free will. Everyone who went to the Ministry that night knew that they might not survive. Every Order member knows that their next mission might be their last. It was not your fault."

Harry sighed. "Thank you."

Snape snorted. "Don't be a fool; I'm not saying this to make you feel better. This is merely another lesson. I told you before that you were not ready to understand your greatest weakness, but now I think you might be. Your arrogance, Potter. I have been telling you for years that you are an arrogant fool, and you never understood what I meant by that. You blame yourself for this entire war."

Ron made a noise of understanding; Hermione looked at him and nodded before turning back to Harry, who looked confused.

Snape continued quietly, "You blame yourself every time someone gets hurt or killed. You think it is solely your responsibility to end the war, that in the end it will just be you and the Dark Lord."

"Won't it?" he asked in a small voice.

"Of course not. The Order of the Phoenix was re-formed after the Grindelwald conflict to oppose him and his Death Eaters when I was still a very young child, long before your parents had even met, long before you were born. You are an important piece of this war, but you were not the cause and you are not the only person involved. I don't know what will happen at the end, but it will not be solely up to you. You aren't our leader or our general, Potter. You are a soldier, just like the rest of us. The world does not rest on your shoulders alone."

"But... the prophecy..."

"What, you're going to base your entire life on something _Sybill Trelawney _said?" Snape asked contemptuously, rolling his eyes. "Bugger the prophecy, Potter. Divination is a load of rubbish anyway, and even if it weren't... Nothing is set in stone. The smallest actions can change the course of the future. What was prophesied then might have been the most likely outcome then, but that was almost twenty years ago. Things have changed." He paused and then added more quietly, "You won't be alone at the end, Potter. Your friends would never leave you."

"And you, sir?" Harry dared to ask.

Those black eyes were expressionless once more. "I doubt I will still be in the picture, but I will be there if I can. I have a score to settle."

He paused for a moment, studying Harry through narrowed eyes. "It always comes down to trust," he murmured, almost more to himself than to them, before continuing more loudly, "Your trust issues will need to be addressed as well, Potter. Half the reason for your attitude is that you simply don't trust anyone else to do what is necessary. You didn't trust the Headmaster when he told you to trust me, or when he assured you that nobody could get at the Philosopher's Stone. Your first impulse when you thought the Stone was at risk wasn't to send word to him, or even to tell another member of staff, but to go charging in yourself. You didn't trust Professor McGonagall or Hagrid when they told you the same things. You didn't trust the staff to deal with Slytherin's heir and the monster. You didn't trust me to get word to the Order and find out if Black was truly in danger. No, it always had to be you, didn't it, because nobody else could be relied upon."

"But I was right," Harry protested. "Quirrell did get at the Stone, and the staff couldn't stop what happened in the Chamber of Secrets."

"That's not the point, Potter. You were a child. It should never have occurred to you that we weren't in control; it should never have occurred to you that you could step in and act." He shook his head wearily and gave Harry a crooked and not very pleasant smile. "As for your never trusting me, despite all the evidence to the contrary, well... There is more than one reason I stopped your Occlumency lessons, not merely your actions. You never will trust me. If I didn't know that such a thing was impossible I might almost think you inherited that from your parents; neither of them ever had any particular faith in me either." Shadows crept through his dark eyes as he shrugged. "I'm no psychologist. I have too many trust issues of my own to be able to fix yours. Just... be aware of it. Try not to let it destroy you."

After a thoughtful pause, Ron raised a hand. "Sir, can I ask a question?"

"If you promise to stop channelling Miss Granger like that," Snape murmured somewhat mockingly, raising an eyebrow and smirking as Hermione huffed in annoyance. "Ask."

"Why have you been teaching us all this stuff, instead of spending more time teaching us fighting or something?"

"Ah. I wondered who would finally ask that." He shrugged and looked around at the three of them. "Let me be blunt; if it comes down to nothing but a fight, you're dead, all of you. It is simply not possible to teach you everything you would need to know in the time we have. Learning to think clearly is more important in the long term. If you do find yourselves in the middle of a battle again, I strongly recommend that you run. Use what I have taught you to cover your escape, and get out of it as quickly as possible. I know you are all impossible Gryffindors, but there is no shame in avoiding trouble, you know," he added dryly.

* * *

><p>Insomnia was bloody annoying, Hermione decided tiredly. She had no reason to be awake. She was sleepy, and she didn't have any outstanding work on her mind, and it wasn't a Summons night, and the dormitory was quiet. There was no reason for her to be unable to sleep, but she couldn't shut her mind down, not that she was thinking about anything important. Finally admitting defeat, she fished her wand out from under her pillow and found a book.<p>

"Can't sleep?"

"Don't _do _that!" she snapped when she could breathe again, twisting around to glare up at Dilys. The portrait grinned unrepentantly at her. "No, I can't sleep. What gave it away?" she added sarcastically.

"Temper, temper. Are you fretting over Severus again?"

"No," she lied flatly, refusing to let herself blush and once again thanking God for Silencing charms.

Dilys gave her a thoughtful look, her smile fading. "You really have been winding yourself up, haven't you?" she said more softly. "I'm sorry, my dear. Sometimes I forget how young you are. I promise, you're worrying over nothing. I told you before. I didn't realise you didn't believe me."

"I really, really do not want to have this conversation."

"I'll try not to tease you so much, but really, Hermione, relax. He likes you. You can tell by the way you're still alive. No other student would ever have made it this far into his life and survived to tell the tale. He trusts you, too, and you know him well enough to know how rare that is."

"I suppose so," she agreed guardedly, trying not to feel too hopeful. She didn't want to get hurt, and she couldn't see a way this was going to end well. "It's not just him, anyway. I don't know why I can't sleep. I'm worrying about... well, just about everything, to be honest. The war, and my parents, and Harry..."

"That's certainly understandable. Why not talk to someone about it? You're not the only insomniac in the castle, you know."

Despite herself, she smiled. "Stop that."

Dilys laughed softly. "It's still a valid point, Hermione. Severus understands being kept awake by problems. He's wandering around at the moment, hunting errant students, so you certainly won't disturb him."

"Good to know he hasn't lost interest in all his hobbies," she said mischievously, tempted by the portrait's suggestion. Confusion aside, Snape could be easy to talk to when he was in the right mood; he was a good listener, and he knew what she was worrying about. "I'll get caught."

"By whom? Your teachers have better things to do with their nights than stalk the corridors, you know. Severus does it because he wants to, because he likes walking around the castle at night and because he can't sleep. There are very seldom official patrols taking place. I suggest you do not tell your friends this, but Argus Filch never goes beyond the second floor after dark without a good reason, so as long as you know where Severus is you are highly unlikely to be caught out of bed in most of the castle."

Hermione hadn't known that, but it made sense. Snape and Filch were the only ones who regularly caught students breaking curfew – in fact she couldn't remember anyone from Gryffindor being caught by any other staff member since her first year. "I still shouldn't..." she said, wavering.

"Why not? You should talk to someone who understands what you're going through, you can't sleep right now, and nobody else is awake for you to speak to. If he's out and about then he's in a fairly reasonable mood, and although he'd stick needles in his eyes before he'd admit it I don't think he'd object to the company, misanthrope though he is. You're likely to find him not too far from here, actually; he tends to stick to the higher places, the walltops and towers. Go on."

"Fine, but if I get into trouble I'm telling him it was all your idea."

* * *

><p>She eventually found Snape shortly before midnight, standing at a window on the fourth floor and staring thoughtfully out into the snow. He turned as she approached, raising an eyebrow when he saw who it was, and said nothing as he watched her walk closer.<p>

"Good evening, sir," she greeted him softly.

"Miss Granger. You are becoming terribly Gryffindorish again; it is quite disheartening to see such a relapse," he responded dryly in a soft voice, and she smiled a little, reassured by the lack of apparent anger.

"Sorry to disappoint, sir. I couldn't sleep, and someone told me you were around."

"Imagine my surprise," he murmured, his eyes glittering for a moment. "I am immensely thankful that Dilys died so long ago. If she was still alive she would be ruling the world by now."

"Do you think she could beat the Dark Lord, sir?" she asked whimsically.

"I would pay all the gold in Gringotts twice over to see that particular fight," he told her, his lips twitching; she could hear the humour in his voice. "And I'd bet it on her, too. Why can't you sleep? Nightmares again?"

"No, just general stress, I think. It's one of those nights where I can't seem to stop thinking."

"That is not a problem that I suspect plagues many people in this castle," he observed. "Unfortunately for you, I am out of chai tea," he added, and she smiled at the memory, a little surprised that he had mentioned it.

"Damn. No brandy either, I suppose?"

"Ha. No. Incidentally, Miss Granger, what made you assume that I wouldn't take points from Gryffindor, order you back to bed and arrange an appointment for you with Mr Filch tomorrow night?"

Pushing her luck, she gave him her best wide-eyed innocent look. "My faith in human nature and your famously generous disposition, Professor."

He snorted a laugh and shook his head. "Don't be impertinent. You shouldn't be up, and we both know it."

"I know, sir, but nor should you, in all fairness."

"I, however, am not breaking any school rules." He shrugged. "I was planning to try and get some work done in the labs tonight. I don't need any help, but you can watch for a while if you're really that bored, provided you agree to avoid getting in the way and to go to bed when I tell you."

"Yes, sir," she agreed instantly; she missed watching him brewing potions, as sad as that sounded. Slughorn just wasn't the same. She followed him through the dark, deserted and silent castle, amused to find that she could keep pace with his longer strides even when they weren't running; Hogwarts at night was quite eerie, but it was nice to be walking around semi-legitimately without worrying about being caught.

Snape led her through passages she had never seen before, and ones she was pretty sure weren't on the Marauders' Map; that made sense. She had always thought the teachers must have their own passages that none of the students would be able to find, although if this route was warded she couldn't feel anything. Once in the dungeons he led her by the light of his wand tip past the door to the laboratory she had seen when Mr Weasley had been attacked in fifth year, down a short flight of steps into an area she hadn't even known existed, stopping outside a door set in a heavy stone archway.

"Where are we, sir?" she asked curiously, wondering again just how extensive the dungeons were. She knew of three classrooms, at least two store rooms, the lab she had seen before, Snape's quarters, the Slytherin common room and dormitories and a couple of smaller work rooms used by final-year students for their projects, as well as a couple of empty rooms and rumours of an extensive wine cellar. Apparently there were other places and passages here and there in Snape's territory, possibly all the way under the lake, and right now they were on a level below anything she knew of. _This place is a maze._

He turned and smirked at her, his eyes glittering. "This, Miss Granger, is my _real _private laboratory, not the one most people think is mine. Nobody can get in unless I personally guide them through the door, not even the Headmaster – and that wasn't easy to set up, I might add; which is just as well," he added dryly, "given your previous record. Allow me to state before I let you in that if you ever steal anything from here, I will not be as lenient as I have been in the past. Everything in here is rare, expensive, and devilishly difficult to replace." Arching an eyebrow, his lips twitched as he took in her expression. "Do try to control yourself," he told her, opening the door with something of a flourish; several oil lamps inside sprang to life and filled the place with light.

Hermione actually squeaked when she saw the room beyond. Horrified by her reaction, she clapped a hand over her mouth, but she couldn't stop staring at the most fantastic Potions lab she had ever seen. It was no bigger than the classroom, but that held dozens of students at a time; this room had clearly been moulded and shaped around one person. She could see something of Snape's personality in the arrangement of benches and shelves around the room; he'd taught her long enough for her to be familiar with his working methods. There was a huge marble sink in one corner complete with heavy cast iron water pump, and a pair of big Welsh dressers nearby that held dozens upon dozens of glass bottles in all shapes, sizes and colours, and a solid stone bench piled with cauldrons made from a wide variety of metals. Two entire walls held nothing but shelves full of jars of ingredients, all carefully labelled in his familiar spiky hand. There was a butcher's block in another corner, and a long sideboard covered in a fantastic array of blown glass and exquisitely shaped metal alchemical equipment, and a pile of notebooks stuffed with loose sheets of paper that made her fingers twitch, and a bookshelf that dwarfed any of those found in his personal quarters...

Realising that she was horribly close to drooling, she turned to stare at Snape, blushing despite her best efforts. He wasn't mocking her, though; he actually looked pleased by her reaction, something like pride in his face, and there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, that almost awkward expression she had only seen once before that she might have called shy had it been anyone else. "It's not bad, is it?" he commented softly, and she understood that this was closer to home for him than his living room or his bedroom or wherever he lived in the summer holidays.

Absently she realised that this was the first time in a while that she had seen him in proper light; it was dark in the mornings when they ran, and the Defence classroom was perpetually gloomy, and the light in the Room of Requirement was a bit strange in a way she couldn't define. He actually looked a bit better than he usually did, she noted with some surprise, fractionally less tired and gaunt and his hair looked slightly cleaner. Something to think about later, perhaps, but right now this room took up all her attention.

"It's wonderful," she whispered, turning slowly to scan the room again with something like awe. "I almost want to apologise for intruding."

He snorted a laugh at that and shook his head. "As if any Gryffindor would ever apologise for intruding," he told her mockingly, the softer expression yielding to his usual crooked smirk. "I'm not letting you touch anything in here, but I don't object to you looking around – _carefully._"

"I've never seen half this equipment before," she marvelled softly, wandering around between the benches, fascinated.

"Nor would you have. This lab is far beyond even NEWT level; it has taken the best part of a decade to set up. And much of this equipment is based more on Alchemy than Potions; we don't teach Alchemy at Hogwarts, and haven't done since long before my time. It's seen as too medieval, at least until you graduate and realise how much was missing from your education," he added wryly, moving to a bench nearby and starting to sort through the jars lined up there.

"What are you working on, sir?" she asked interestedly, wandering over to his work area. "Something new?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. I haven't had time for new research in the past couple of years. This is one of my potions, though, but not one you'll have seen before. I never published this one."

Hermione peered past his shoulder at the thick, cloudy blue-grey liquid simmering at the bottom of the black iron cauldron; about the texture of molten tar, it seemed to shimmer oddly with a near-metallic gleam, and it took her a moment to realise it was bubbling without heat. "What is it?"

"It doesn't have an official name. I call it Last Chance, because that's what it is. It's a healing potion, of sorts, but not one that anyone would want to take." Selecting a jar, he unscrewed the lid and began carefully measuring a sulphurous-looking yellow powder into a crucible; he was apparently working from memory, since she couldn't see anything written down anywhere.

"Last Chance," she repeated slowly. "Kill or cure?"

"Yes," he agreed, adding something grainy and wet-looking to the yellow powder and beginning to grind the resulting mess together with the back of a spoon. "Before you ask, I don't anticipate needing it any time soon, and I sincerely hope I won't need it at all, since taking it is _extremely _unpleasant, but it takes quite a long time to mature and it's better to be safe than sorry. Go and look at something for a few minutes; I need to concentrate for this part."

Nodding, she wandered off to browse, nearly laughing aloud when she passed a large jar half filled with dried chillies on one bench next to a tin of what looked very much like powdered chocolate. She could have lost herself in here for hours quite happily, but she made an effort to stay vaguely in the real world as she examined some of the more interesting equipment before being sidetracked by a painting on the wall. Aside from the picture of Hogwarts, all the paintings in his rooms were natural landscapes, remote and wild and untouched, but this one showed a church on a city street. It was set at night, and the street was dark and empty of life, only parked cars visible under a street lamp. It seemed out of place and didn't match what seemed to be his usual taste in art.

"Not very wizardly, is it?" Snape commented sardonically from behind her, almost scaring her to death as she spun around.

"Don't _do _that," she said weakly, wondering why half the castle's inhabitants seemed to love sneaking up on her, and he smirked at her.

"I would apologise, but it would be a lie."

Trying to ignore that, she looked back at the painting. "Why do you have a picture down here, sir? I can't see you letting Dilys or Phineas hound you in here..."

He snorted, amused. "True. But in a sense, it's here because of them. The frame is warded to stop them getting in, but if I need to summon one of them to it, I can."

"Why a church?" she asked curiously.

Snape shrugged. "This church is St Anne's, in Manchester. It's where my parents got married, and it's where their funerals took place..."

"I didn't know they were dead," she said softly. She had known his mother was dead, after his use of the past tense on the one occasion when he had spoken about her during their conversation about elemental magic over the summer, but not his father.

He shrugged again with a slightly chillingly indifferent expression. "Nonetheless, they are, and they are buried in the churchyard behind the building. I doubt there will be enough left of me to fill a grave, or I would probably be joining them."

"Don't say that!"

He blinked and seemed to remember who he was talking to, giving her something that approached an apologetic look and shrugging uneasily. "If you're asking whether I am religious, no, I'm not. I would like to be, I think. I would like to believe in something better. But I've seen too much. No god could allow some of the things I've seen, or done. This world doesn't fulfil any sort of plan."

She nodded slowly in agreement, remembering the things she had read about in his files and the stories he bore etched into his skin. No god could justify letting anyone live the sort of life this man had, even if it was supposedly for the greater good. It occurred to her that this was a very odd conversation, but that was hardly surprising, given the lateness of the hour; she'd known for years that her mind worked in very different ways late at night, and presumably so did other people's.

Turning, Snape went back to the bench and drew a couple of stools out from beneath it, and she followed him and sat beside him, peering curiously into the cauldron as he began to stir it slowly. There was no precision to the movements; clearly this stage didn't require a particular number or direction of stirs. "Were you religious before coming to Hogwarts, Miss Granger?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I've been christened, if that's what you mean, sir. Church of England. We were never really devout, or anything, and I don't know if I believe or not, but... I'd like to. It just seems... odd, now."

"Why?"

"I don't really know. Magic and religion just seem like antithetical concepts, or at least magic and Christianity. I think it's in Exodus..."

"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'."

"Yes."

Snape tilted his head and gave her a thoughtful look. "I've told you before, nothing is black and white. The word 'witch' in that passage is from the King James translation. In the original Hebrew, the word translates very specifically as 'caster of harmful spells'; their society differentiated between magical people based on what they did with that magic, rather than displaying the blanket condemnation of King James' day. These days we would say 'practitioner of the Dark Arts', I suppose. Or even 'Death Eater'," he added with a rather mirthless smile. "I don't know where that leaves me, but the early Christians would not have had a problem with you, at least not for that reason."

"How do you know all this, sir?"

He snorted softly. "I read, Granger. As obsessively as you do, I dare say, but I've been at it longer than you have. Most of the Bible is utter rubbish, but every now and then it does say something sensible."

"Like Corinthians?" she asked, remembering one of her favourite passages, and to her surprise he nodded.

"Yes. St Paul wasn't a complete idiot." He took a deep breath, staring at the cauldron, and spoke softly. "'If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

"Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection, as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love'."

Hermione stared at him, stunned into silence. He ignored her completely, adding a milky pinkish fluid to the cauldron and continuing to stir as though he hadn't said anything, and after a moment the mood faded as he said nonchalantly, "And the book of Proverbs has its good points, too."

"What about Revelations?" she asked, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. This had to be one of the weirdest conversations she had ever had, and she'd certainly never dreamed that Snape would be the type to memorise Bible quotes – particularly not that one. As far as she could recall, he'd been word-perfect.

"The ancients clearly discovered acid long before the hippies did," Snape replied dryly, before shrugging. "I don't know... I think the world probably will end in fire, with Death astride his pale horse watching us burn." Abruptly the potion hissed and started to produce dark, curling tendrils of steam, and he sighed, sitting back. "I don't like this part much," he muttered, turning and opening a drawer under the bench to produce a syringe before matter-of-factly starting to roll his sleeve up.

Hermione stared at him. "Is_ this _why you have track marks?" It was an explanation that had never occurred to her, or to Madam Pomfrey or Dilys as far as she knew.

"Yes," he replied indifferently. "Poppy told you the truth, though; most of those are old marks from the days when I used drugs. I've been clean for years, despite what she thinks; the newer ones are from drawing blood samples. And this particular potion requires the blood of the drinker to be added at two separate stages during the brewing, and again just before consumption."

"How lovely," she muttered. "Still, I suppose you're not squeamish by now, are you?"

"Nobody who works with Potions stays squeamish for long," he told her. "If you continue to study past NEWT level, you'll lose any last traces of that the first time you have to prepare ingredients. You all work with blood and meat and bodily fluids and body parts from dozens of different animals, but you never stop to think about how the apothecaries harvest them."

"What's the worst ingredient you've had to prepare?" she asked idly, mostly to distract herself as he deftly began to draw blood up into the syringe from the vein at the crook of his elbow with the ease of long practice.

"Mandrakes," he replied instantly. "In your second year. When they're mature they bleed and scream as they're being cut up. It's enough to give anyone nightmares and by the end of it I was fishing chunks out of a bathtub full of... well, it wasn't really blood, but it was close enough to make no real difference, and they do look disturbingly like children."

"What's the worst one you use regularly?"

"Anything involving eyeballs or the secretions of a gland is usually rather unpleasant," he noted dispassionately, removing the syringe and absently pressing his sleeve down over the mark. "But most of my ingredients come ready prepared as well, unless I want to set some nasty detentions."

"Because it's more expensive to buy them ready prepared and you want to pad your budget?" she asked him sweetly.

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'you're so sharp you may cut yourself'?" he asked acidly, his eyes gleaming with humour as he looked at her before adding his blood to the cauldron with another hiss.

"Many times, sir," she said blandly in response, and he snorted, keeping his attention focused on the potion.

Propping her chin on her hand, Hermione watched, fascinated by the change in his expression as he slowly became lost in his work and seemed to forget she was there; the constant tension gradually eased, his thin frame relaxing muscle by muscle, and the deep lines etched into his face softened, the near-permanent furrow between his brows growing shallower. His eyes changed as well, the hard brittleness fading to something warmer and less forbidding, glittering with interest and concentration as he focused more intently. When he pushed his hair back from his face and tucked it behind his ears she saw that it really did seem a little cleaner, and his skin tone looked a bit less terminal as well, which was really good to see.

"You're staring," he murmured a few minutes later, startling her – he'd seemed to be off in his own world.

"Sorry."

"It's not a problem, but at least blink or something occasionally, will you? I can _feel _you staring. What's so interesting, anyway? This part isn't exactly fascinating."

Hermione smiled ruefully, caught out and relieved that he wasn't looking at her. "I've missed watching you brewing, sir, as sad as that sounds," she admitted, repeating her earlier thoughts. "Professor Slughorn is good, but it's weird having someone else teaching Potions, and it's just not the same."

He looked a little surprised, as far as she could tell, although as always his expression wasn't that easy to read; possibly pleased, as well, but she was less sure of that. "Professor Slughorn is a competent and qualified teacher," he replied neutrally, and she snorted.

"Yes, sir," she agreed dryly. He also wasn't _Snape. _Maybe it was the Mastery, but she didn't think so; it seemed to be just natural talent. "You don't like him much, do you?"

"No, but I don't like anyone much."

Laughing softly, she settled more comfortably on the stool and watched him working, knowing better than to reply to that. He might like her, at least a bit, but she still wasn't going to push her luck too far.

They both lost track of time after that; Hermione was startled when he broke the comfortable silence, sounding rather surprised. "Miss Granger, it is almost two in the morning. You should have returned to your room hours ago."

"Is it really? I didn't realise. You should probably get some rest too, sir," she added bravely, sliding off the stool and stretching stiffly.

"True, I suppose," he agreed, mirroring her actions.

She glanced at the cauldron; the thick, viscous potion inside was still bubbling slightly, although it was much darker in colour now and seemed even more syrupy. "Is it finished?"

"No, not even close. It will be another three days before the brewing is finished, and then it needs to mature for at least two weeks, although longer is better. You see why I wished to make it ahead of actually potentially needing it." He held the door for her, closing it behind them. "I assume you can find your way to bed by yourself."

"Yes, sir. I suppose I'll see you in a few hours?"

Snape shook his head as they headed back up the stairs to the main dungeon level. "Don't you dare."

"Sir?"

"I'm not incurring anyone's wrath by insisting you get up in three and a half hours to run through the snow in the dark. I am used to functioning on so little sleep; you are not, and if you fall asleep in class there will be hell to pay. Particularly since you have Defence tomorrow afternoon. Take a lie in until breakfast, Granger; that's an order."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for tonight. I needed the company, and I liked seeing your lab." Saying that had taken all her courage, but she was rewarded by another rare smile before he flicked a hand at her in dismissal and turned away towards his rooms.

Climbing the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower once more, Hermione reflected that tired though she was, this wasn't likely to fix her insomnia. She had a lot more to think about; when he would next let her explore that fascinating lab, how he knew so much about the Bible, why he had been making such a nasty-sounding potion, why his health seemed to be improving a little, when and how his parents had died, and the way that damned lopsided little smile of his warmed his eyes and made her realise anew just how much trouble she was in.

* * *

><p><em>Another quick reminder, you need to have private messaging enabled now or I can't reply to your reviews. Next time: drama! Action! ...Draco?<em>_  
><em>


	24. Chapter 24

__Listen closely, you can hear his stress levels rising, poor man.  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong>"Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair. I remember the killers, I remember the victims, even as I struggle to invent a thousand and one reasons to hope."<strong>  
>– Elie Wiesel.<p>

* * *

><p>February had gone past quite successfully, in Severus' opinion. His health was picking up a bit, the Trio were showing a visible improvement in the ability to look after themselves and to be less annoying, and his peculiar and nerve-wracking friendship with <em>her <em>seemed to be growing deeper without anyone else noticing. The war seemed to have quietened down a little, too; he'd only been punished once in the past six weeks, and not very seriously. No hunting parties, no attacks, no raids.

He had known it couldn't last, but it was still a shock to the system when everything started going to Hell again on the first of March. He didn't find out about Weasley being poisoned until after all the excitement was over; in fact, he arrived in the hospital wing to find quite a crowd of puzzled and worried staff and Gryffindors watching the boy sleeping. Including Dumbledore, which was a surprise – the old man had been avoiding him recently; they hadn't spoken privately since September, or publicly since Christmas. It didn't matter, because Severus wasn't paying attention; all his focus was on the bed, and more specifically the girl sitting beside it, gripping Weasley's hand and staring worriedly at his pale face.

Her expression sliced through him like a knife, and it was impossible to ignore, especially since his colleagues had noticed too. So had Potter, that was how obvious it was – the boy was skulking awkwardly to one side, grinning uncomfortably. Things only grew worse when Miss Brown arrived, not least because her ear-splitting shriek should have stripped the paint off the walls; her obvious jealousy and Granger's refusal to back down could have turned into an ugly fight, at which point Severus decided morosely he probably would have had to shoot himself.

Why the hell couldn't his fellow teachers talk of something else? Apparently a student being poisoned was less interesting than the endless saga of teenage angst and romance. At least his well known miserable personality gave him an excuse to growl something suitably disgusted-sounding and slink off.

Severus was trying to think rationally, but with limited success. He was almost – almost – certain that Weasley and Granger had never dated and that there was nothing between them, and he was truly certain that they weren't well matched, but... well, she'd been trying to make him jealous at Christmas, hadn't she? And he'd been trying to make her jealous ever since he'd started going out with Miss Brown. Severus had no idea what was really going on. All he was sure of was that he would have given anything to have anyone – but especially her – look at him with that much concern and fear for his safety.

_You're being stupid, _he told himself firmly, trying to believe it. He knew she worried about him. He was wearing the proof of her worry around his arm, and saw it in her eyes every time he was driven to seek healing in the hospital wing, felt it in her hesitant touch as she tried to help him. She would act the same way for any of her friends. Logic and reason seldom won out over jealousy and hurt, though, he knew that better than anyone, and he _so _didn't want to have to go through this again, watching helplessly as someone he cared about turned to another instead. It had been bad enough as an angst-ridden teenager; at thirty seven it would probably be the end of him even if only by driving him to suicide in sheer self-disgust.

When he found himself thinking that at least it wasn't Potter, he decided that enough was enough, and sternly forced everything down deep behind his walls where it belonged. He had far more important things to see to. Threading through the dark corridors, he came eventually to the door he sought and ran a finger over it; it opened for his touch and he faced a startled third year Slytherin on his way out of the common room.

"Tell Draco Malfoy that I want to see him," he said crisply.

"Yes, Professor."

With half the house as witnesses, Draco didn't dare ignore the summons; once he appeared, Severus seized his wrist, lowering his voice. "My office. Now. If you refuse I will drag you, and I don't care how that appears. Move."

Draco _moved, _not that he had much choice. Severus restrained himself from slamming his office door behind them, although it was a close thing, and turned to face his sullen-looking godson, holding his temper in check as best he could.

"By rights I ought to thrash you until you can't sit down for a week," he snapped. "You idiot! What on earth were you thinking?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Don't even try that with me or I really will give you a damned good hiding. The stunt with the necklace was bad enough, but this was pure stupidity, the sort of 'plan' I'd expect from the most moronic stone-headed Hufflepuff. There was only a very small chance that the mead would make it to Dumbledore – in fact, knowing Slughorn, there was no chance at all! And even if it had, the Headmaster knows enough about Alchemy to recognise poison!" Much to his own dismay. That would have made things so much simpler.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco insisted sullenly, and Severus slapped him. That earned him a shocked look; it had been years since anyone had done anything of the sort.

"Draco, you cannot act like a spoiled brat any more. This is important. You are panicking and acting without thinking, and if someone gets killed as a result, what is going to happen? You'll end up in Azkaban, and the Dark Lord won't bother to break in again just for you. Your parents will try to save you, and he'll kill them. I won't be able to protect you. _You must be careful._"

"You can't protect me anyway," he muttered, the mask slipping a little; the boy was terrified.

Severus shook his head. "Says who? I always have before. Despite every stupid thing you've done. I swore the Unbreakable Vow to protect you, Draco. I am doing everything in my power to find a way out of this snare we're in. You cannot afford to panic. There is still time."

"It's nothing to do with you."

"Bullshit," he replied flatly. "Apart from anything else, word of this failure is already beginning to trickle back; I'll be the one who ends up bleeding for you tomorrow, or the night after."

"I never asked you to volunteer to be my whipping boy."

"You didn't have to ask, Draco. I'm your godfather. I was there when you were born; it's the only time I've ever seen your father cry. I've known you all your life. Did you think I would abandon you now, when you need me more than ever?" he asked more softly. "You should know me better than that. Why did you go to your aunt for aid, and not me? Do you, too, believe me a traitor?"

Draco hesitated. "I... I don't know, uncle."

The address almost made him smile; it had been years since Draco called him Uncle Severus. They weren't related, of course, but that didn't matter. The Malfoys were the closest thing to family he had. He regarded his godson sadly.

"My loyalty has always been to those I care about, Draco, not to some vision of the future. Your parents know that, and I thought you did too. It is why your mother came to me in the first place; she knew I would do anything to try and keep you safe. Will you listen to me, please, and trust me at least once more?"

Draco hesitated again, looking truly vulnerable now, and finally shook his head despairingly and dropped into a chair. "I'm listening. Nothing more."

More relieved than anything, Severus took the chair opposite him, looking at him intently. "Don't panic, Draco. I know you're scared, and you should be, but things may not be as hopeless as they seem. I don't know yet. I promise you I am doing everything I can to find another way; you've known me all your life, you ought to know by now that I am good at that. Acting so rashly will do nothing except cause collateral damage that will get you into even more trouble. You cannot afford to let anyone discover what is going on; some already suspect."

"Potter and his sidekicks," Draco spat.

"Amongst others, yes. _That_ is how obvious you are being, Draco. I know you won't tell me what you're working on, and perhaps you shouldn't, but I also know these clumsy attempts are partly to distract people from your real plan. I suspect you are working on a way to get our brethren into the castle, yes? By all means, concentrate on that. You and I both know you are not capable of murder."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

The cocky bravado almost made him smile. Even as little more than a toddler, Draco had been like this. Severus gave him a rather wry look. "Because I know you. You aren't a sociopath, Draco, and without some sort of mental damage or early trauma you don't have the darkness needed to take a life. Poisons have their uses, but as a method of assassination it is a choice made by those who cannot use other methods. You do not have it in you to kill, not yet, and if I and your parents have our way you never will."

"I don't have a choice," Draco whispered, looking frightened once more.

"There's always a choice. It's just a matter of finding out what that choice is."

"Words, uncle, it's just words. You can't help me."

"I can, and I will, even if only by taking your punishments for you. You have time, Draco. The Dark Lord does not truly want to risk losing your father's loyalty by killing you; Lucius is one of his most valued lieutenants, even now. He will wait as long as possible before taking such action, and you still have four months at least. A lot can change in that time. For now, I ask that you trust me, that you take no further rash actions. Concentrate on your plan, do not draw attention to yourself, try to have faith. Things may not be as dark as they seem."

"Whose side are you really on, uncle?" he asked in a small voice.

Idly, Severus wondered what would happen if he answered honestly. "At this precise moment, yours. There are far more than just two sides to choose from. I am doing the best I can. Bide your time and do not be foolish, that is all I ask."

Once his godson had left, Severus leaned forward and rested his aching head in his hands, wondering how much of what he had said would turn out to be lies. He would do what he could to try and save Draco, but if it came down to a choice, he couldn't see any way of choosing him. His true loyalty lay with Potter, with Potter's friend, and therefore by extension with Dumbledore – although the two loyalties were incompatible. What was going to happen at the end of the year? If he did as he was asked, and killed Dumbledore... as always, his mind flinched away from trying to imagine the horror that would follow. There _had _to be another way, although he'd be damned if he could see what.

_Christ, I need a drink. _He'd have to settle for a cigarette, though – he probably should have given those up, too, but at times like this sobriety bit hard.

* * *

><p>Something had changed again since Ron's poisoning, Hermione reflected. She was starting to suspect that Harry might have been right about Draco just because Snape seemed so obviously worried about something – well, obvious to her, at least, although she doubted anyone else had noticed. He was getting very snappy, sometimes even with her but mostly just with the world as a whole; he spent a solid week growing increasingly nasty, before finally losing his temper completely in a training session and taking it out on Ron, his partner at the time.<p>

Hermione watched in shock that turned to almost horror as her friend gave up any attempt at fighting back and simply began trying to defend himself; Snape looked truly furious and had obviously stopped holding back.

"We need to stop this," Harry said uneasily. "Um, any ideas how? I think I just heard Ron's nose break."

Biting her lip, she nodded slowly and concentrated; this wouldn't have been possible outside the Room of Requirement. The temperature plummeted; Snape had used this before to put a stop to things when fights got out of hand, but she asked for a stronger impact, and ice started to form on the walls as her breath turned to steam and Harry muffled a yelp next to her.

She felt bad for doing it – last night Snape had been very late back to the school and had barely been able to walk; he'd even had a seizure, which hadn't happened in a long time. His circulation was bad enough at the best of times; after such a bad Summons, this cold would be complete agony, and his hissing exhalation sounded like pain to her. But it worked; he shuddered, nearly falling over, and scrambled to his feet as his expression cleared. He still looked angry, but not as much as he had done, possibly because it was hard to look angry when you were shivering so hard your teeth chattered.

"Sorry, sir, I think I overdid it a bit," she said carefully. "I don't think Ron's good enough for that sort of fighting yet, that's all."

His lip curled as he stared down at Ron, now sitting up and wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve. The temperature began to increase again, returning to normal, but Snape's shivering didn't abate. "That is certainly true," he said finally in a cold voice that didn't sound quite right; Hermione stared at him, wondering what exactly was going on. Shaking his head, he scanned the room briefly, looking tired as some of the anger began to fade. "We're done for tonight," he said shortly, and stalked out without another word, leaving three baffled teenagers staring at one another.

"What the hell was that about?" Harry asked.

"I've no idea," she said wearily, moving over to Ron and crouching next to him, drawing her wand. "For all I know, he might have been drunk or something. He's been in a really weird mood all week. He was hurt last night, badly, but it doesn't normally do that to him. Hold still, Ron, this is going to sting."

"Okay, how's this for an idea," Ron said thickly after Hermione had healed his nose, wincing a little. "Hermione doesn't like me that way any more. She told Harry that, and Harry told me. Has anyone told Snape?"

"What?" she asked blankly.

Harry blinked. "Um. Good point."

"What is?"

"Snape's got no reason to pick on Ron. Especially not if I'm in the room for him to beat up. I reckon..." He rubbed the back of his neck and grinned wryly, looking somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Looks like he's jealous, to me."

"Rubbish," she retorted scornfully. "As if he would be. And as if you'd notice if he was."

"Okay, fine, but I was talking to Katie last week after Quidditch training. Did you know McLaggen spent nearly the whole of January serving detentions with Filch after Christmas? All set by Snape and all for no real reason. He still hasn't made it to the end of a Defence lesson without losing points for something. I reckon Ron's going to start losing points now, too."

"Come off it."

"Seriously."

"Is that really true about Cormac?" she asked hesitantly. The older boy seemed to have finally got the hint when she had avoided him ever since term started; she hadn't even seen him in weeks, thankfully.

Harry nodded, grinning. "Yep. Ask one of the other sixth years, if you like. They're all really angry with him for costing us so many points recently – Snape's a bastard, all right, but they've got to see McLaggen far more often than they do Snape and none of them like him."

"What do I do about it?" Ron asked plaintively. "I haven't got time for detentions with everything else going on... and he can't half hit hard, for such a skinny bloke. It's not like I can tell him I'm not going out with Hermione."

"Um. Dunno." Harry looked back at her. "Any chance you could drop it into a conversation?"

"Are you barking mad? What on earth would we have to talk about for that to come up?" she asked, exasperated amusement overcoming disbelief for a moment. "Hello, Professor Snape, I'd like to talk to you about my last essay on the different types of Shield Charm, and by the way I'm not dating Ron so can you stop hitting him?"

"No wonder he always says Gryffindors don't have any subtlety, if that's the best you can come up with," he retorted, grinning.

"Oh, shut up. I think you're reading far too much into this. He's never needed a reason to pick on the two of you; he's never liked either of you. For all we know Dumbledore's ordered him to leave Harry alone so he's taking it out on Ron by proxy."

"And McLaggen?"

"Is unbelievably annoying and a total prat. Besides, didn't you tell me he nearly puked on Snape at Christmas? I'd have given him detention for that." _I wish I'd seen it, though._

"Okay, fine, but it's a hell of a coincidence, isn't it? He _just happens _to be targeting the boys you've been linked to in some way?"

"Rubbish," she repeated firmly. "If that was true, he'd be after you as well, wouldn't he? Everyone thought we were a couple back in fourth year, and God knows he's never needed a reason to go after you for anything. Besides, I've never been out with Ron, and the whole school knows about him and Lavender, surely."

"Nice try," Harry told her mildly. "He was in the hospital wing, remember. That was pretty easy to misunderstand. Half the teachers were going _aww _at you worrying over Ron. I'll bet my Firebolt that I'm right; that should tell you how convinced I am."

"I don't want your Firebolt," she retorted, her mind racing as she tried to remember if Snape had been acting differently this week – the moodiness didn't count, he was often like that. It was hard to tell when he so seldom said anything. "And just because you believe something, Harry, doesn't mean it's right. Why would he be jealous of Ron?"

"Thanks," Ron said sourly, before grinning at the look on her face. "Relax, I know what you meant. I don't think he's jealous of _me, _specifically, just that you're close to me."

"That still doesn't explain why he's not targeting Harry. I doubt he reads _Witch Weekly _but he must have heard the gossip, and even the _Prophet _mentioned it."

"Give it time," Harry said dolefully. "He'll probably put us both in hospital, and you'll have to come and sit by our beds, and that'll make him hate us even more, and it'll turn into a complete vicious circle..."

"Shut up, Harry."

* * *

><p>The following morning, Hermione was in a bad mood as she made her way down to the dungeons. She hadn't slept well, and she was frankly getting tired of Snape's attitude right now. Whatever was annoying him at the moment, it wasn't her fault and Ron certainly hadn't done anything to deserve a punch in the face – at least not recently. Snape himself didn't seem remotely concerned with her unusual silence and in fact didn't seem to notice, which only made her more annoyed.<p>

Finally as they returned to the castle she broke the silence, knowing even as she said it that it was going to be a mistake. "Sir, can I ask you something?" she asked quietly, and without waiting for his usual sarcastic response she continued, "Why did you hit Ron like that, last night?"

He gave her an expressionless stare. "It was a fight. What were you expecting me to do?"

"I wasn't expecting you to break his nose, or to push so far. We're not that good yet."

"You never will be at this rate."

"I'm not stupid, sir. You went too far, and I'd like to know why. What has Ron done to make you angry?"

Snape avoided her eyes and shrugged. "I wasn't aware I needed a reason." She focused intently on the back of his neck and stared as hard as she could, knowing he could feel it and knowing he didn't like it, and finally he sighed. "Nothing. He hasn't done anything. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," she replied flatly. "Is it likely to happen again?"

He shifted slightly, plainly uncomfortable. "No." Still not looking at her, he conceded stiffly, "I lost my temper."

"I noticed," she said dryly, frustrated. He was a good listener and she'd opened up to him more than once, but he never seemed to repay the favour. She had gained some insight into his world, seeing his lab and so on, but he wouldn't _talk_ to her. Besides... she'd spent a lot of last night considering the boys' bizarre theory, and it was starting to seem a little less bizarre, but she couldn't think of a way to broach the subject that wouldn't result in her painful and lingering death. Unless...

Trying to sound lighter and less irritated, she said carefully, "Well, sir, if you could avoid beating him up quite that badly again, I'd appreciate it. I think Lavender would prefer that her boyfriend stayed more or less in one piece."

He tensed. Only very slightly, and if she hadn't been watching for a reaction she wouldn't have seen it, but he tensed. Turning, he sneered at her. "And of course one of my goals in life is to keep Miss Brown happy."

"Gryffindor Tower is quieter when she's happy," Hermione responded, carefully thinking of fog to hide the shock flooding her mind. That tiny little almost-flinch was the equivalent of a shout from anyone else. _Holy shit!_

"Also one of my goals in life. Was there anything else?"

"Not when you're in this mood, sir, no," she retorted, seeing the twin flickers of anger and something akin to acknowledgement in his eyes; he clearly knew he was being an unreasonable bastard right now, but at the same time he looked so tired and stressed that she was finding it difficult to stay angry, especially given that it seemed the boys had been dead right about his jealousy. "You do know you can talk to people instead of repressing everything all the time, yes?"

His eyes darkened, less with anger and more with bitterness. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No, because you won't tell me."

"It's nothing to do with you, that's why. That is enough, Miss Granger." His tone made it clear that the conversation was over.

Sighing, Hermione gave in; she had a lot to think about now anyway. "Yes, Professor."

* * *

><p>Her first lesson that morning was History of Magic, followed by a free period, so she had a lot of time to think. Her initial reaction was sheer adolescent giddiness, which she was secretly quite amused by; a small shrill voice in the back of her head seemed to be yelling triumphantly, <em>He likes me! <em>It took a little while to get past that enough to really think. She still wasn't completely certain, but it was looking more likely; jealousy did explain most of Snape's oddest behaviour, both at Slughorn's party and his anger at Ron now, and even the boys seemed to think there was something there. Dilys had assured her of it, too, but the portrait clearly had her own agenda.

She couldn't deny feeling happy at the possibility, but it didn't do much to ease her confusion. All her doubts about the advisability of her feelings still existed, and if anything were worse; the man really was damaged, after all. That would either resolve itself or it wouldn't, though; there were two important questions to consider now. _Why, _for a start, and also _what happens now?_

'Why' was a tricky question. Despite what her friends all assured her, Hermione had never really seen herself as attractive, not unless she went to hours of effort, and she knew most boys were put off by her intelligence. Admittedly for someone like Snape that was a definite positive, but still, she knew she was an obsessive bookworm – _so is he, _she reminded herself with a small smile, but the point still stood. And she had got on his nerves more or less constantly ever since her first Potions lesson. They did seem to be friends, most of the time, at least. She could talk to him, often more easily than she could to anyone else. What Snape got out of their weird friendship was anyone's guess, though, and she wasn't about to even try and speculate about Lily – at least not yet. Best to try and work out the rest first, if she could.

As for what happened now, well, she had absolutely no idea. Even if she decided to overlook all his problems... God knows what the school rules said about relationships between staff and students, or the laws of the wizarding world – she was of age, yes, but nobody had ever really said what that meant for a witch. Snape was a half-blood, anyway; he might hold to a more Muggle code of ethics, and the age difference would probably concern him more than it would a pureblood. She couldn't even begin to imagine the chaos if anyone found out, either, even just on a social level – and if word made it back to Voldemort, then Snape was dead. The Death Eaters weren't going to look kindly on a Mudblood-lover, especially when said Mudblood was Harry Potter's best friend.

And if you looked past all of those ridiculously huge problems, somehow, she still didn't know what happened next. Hell would freeze over before she could ever approach him under any circumstances; she'd never have the courage. And, shamefully, she wasn't entirely sure _how_... Viktor had approached her, not the other way around, and asking Cormac out had just been a matter of saying hello and waiting for him to stop talking about himself long enough to mention the party – his ego had done the rest for her. She and Ron had never flirted, which was probably for the best but did mean she hadn't the faintest idea how to let a man know she was interested. The things she'd heard the other girls talking about – laughing at their jokes, flicking her hair and so on – sounded pathetic even to her, and certainly wouldn't impress Snape. That was going to be a problem, though, because she doubted he would approach her. Professional ethics aside, he was such a pessimist that he would never believe it could be mutual – she hadn't, after all, and she was nowhere near as cynical and depressed as he was. Besides, she doubted he had much more experience of such things than she did; he was too impatient for games.

Knowing that she had a chance, however slim, was certainly wonderful, and she'd need to be careful not to turn completely giddy when she next saw him, but realistically nothing could happen between them without endangering him even more and pulling Hell down on them both. Even without the war, neither of them were particularly socially adept anyway. If anything, she was even more confused and fatalistic now than she had been when she had thought it was totally unrequited.

* * *

><p>Severus' temper finally snapped the next day, and that evening he stalked to Dumbledore's office and insisted that the old man talk to him. His employer had been avoiding him, increasingly obviously, for a long time now – since the incident with the cursed necklace way back in October, in fact – and he'd had enough of it. His black mood wasn't helped by the old man insisting they go out and walk through the grounds to talk, but he supposed at least it meant Phineas and Dilys wouldn't be able to eavesdrop. It wasn't snowing or raining, at least, but damnit, it was freezing.<p>

"What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?" he asked finally, breaking the strained silence. It wasn't what he wanted to discuss, particularly, but he couldn't deny he wanted to know the answer; another training session had been missed yesterday because Potter was busy meeting with the Headmaster, and although he thought Hermione might possibly tell him eventually if he asked, he didn't want to push her into betraying a confidence.

"Why?" Dumbledore asked, clearly not going to answer. "You aren't trying to give him _more _detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out."

_If I could think of another cover story, I would use it,_ he growled silently. It wasn't easy to meet with a student – or three students – privately. Since he couldn't say that, he fell back on one of his old arguments. "He is his father over again," he said deliberately, although he no longer really believed that.

"In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother's," Dumbledore said serenely, and Severus repressed a snort. _No, it isn't. He's more forgiving than either of his parents. Luckily. _Although the boy did have his mother's temper – which wasn't a good thing. "I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late."

"Information," Severus repeated slowly. The final plan? He'd been wondering recently if Dumbledore even had one. Letting himself be killed seemed like a very poor strategy. "You trust him... you do not trust me." _Even though I'm the one who's going to have to pay the price._

"It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do."

_Since when is Potter just 'the boy'? _Severus wondered suspiciously, cold creeping down his spine. He really didn't like the sound of this. "And why may I not have the same information?" he asked silkily.

"I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."

Rage blazed through him. "Which I do on your orders!" he snarled. Never thanked, rarely acknowledged, but wouldn't they all be screwed if he didn't do it?

"And you do it extremely well," the old man said patronisingly; Severus' hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus." _Bullshit. You have no idea what I go through. You've never wanted to know. _"To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you." _That's bullshit too. You don't have a choice. Nobody else can do it, or you'd have been rid of me a long time ago, one way or another._

Seriously angry now, he growled, "Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind!"

"Voldemort fears that connection. Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way."

_Well, that's good to know... _He'd had nightmares of what would happen should the Dark Lord discover that he was teaching Potter to protect himself. "I don't understand."

"Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame –"

"Souls?" he interrupted, wondering if the old man had gone completely crackers. "We were talking of minds!" They weren't the same thing. Severus didn't believe it was possible to possess another's soul. Corrupt it, damage it, yes, but not own it.

"In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other."

He stared blankly at his employer; he didn't have a clue what Dumbledore was talking about, but it didn't sound particularly sane, frankly. _Don't say he's gone as mad as the Dark Lord..._

Dumbledore looked around to make sure they were still alone at the edge of the forest. "After you have killed me, Severus –"

_You'll abandon me to the blanket hatred of everyone I know, if my sanity – my soul – even survives it. _Shaking with fury, he forced the words out through clenched teeth. "You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me! You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore!" _You always have. _"Perhaps I have changed my mind!" Empty words; he had no choice, and they both knew it, but he was so fucking sick of this.

"You gave me your word, Severus." _You don't trust my word, though, old man, do you. I can see the fear in your eyes. Even now, you don't believe I'm on your side, and there will never be anything I can do to prove myself. I will always be just a Death Eater to you._

"And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?"

His temper snapped completely. "He's no friend of yours, and I owe you _nothing_, Dumbledore! What have you ever given me that I should repay? It is no fault of mine that so many of my House despise you! I told you in the summer that Draco will not listen to me. I told you again in October. He has no faith that I will be able to protect him, and why should he? What am I supposed to do? I am stumbling blindly in the dark, walking the razor's edge with none of the facts and no idea of the truth. After I have killed you, you say? Fine! Tell me, what happens then? The Order think me a traitor and a murderer. I get left in charge of a school filled with angry witches and wizards who hate me. If I fail to subdue them, I will be killed in turn. Meanwhile you give secret information to an underage boy with almost as many psychological problems as I have, God knows to what end – you're a fool if you think he'll do anything after your death except try to kill me. So tell me, Dumbledore, _what happens?_"

The old man's eyes were chips of icy blue flame. "You would be dead if not for me, Severus."

"And the world would have been far better off. I had that made very clear to me when I was sixteen. I know the precise value of my life to you, Dumbledore, don't worry about that."

Angry or not, the Headmaster couldn't look him in the eyes. Shaking with anger, Severus looked away, bile burning his throat and pressure making his head pound. "Fine," he said finally in a cold, distant voice, letting the cool darkness of his Occlumency defences quench the fire once more. "Keep your secrets. The Order will still follow you blindly, regardless – until I take that away from them. So be it. I don't know what you hope to achieve by any of this, but it is hardly anything new for me, is it? As you pointed out, I gave you my word, and I will stand by that." _Unless a miracle happens and I think of a way out._

"You have no choice," Dumbledore said coldly. "The Unbreakable Vow will hold you."

Severus spat on the frozen earth at his employer's feet, because it was that or hit him. _It must really wind you up that you need to rely on a Slytherin, mustn't it, old man. I'm not a Gryffindor, so obviously I can't be trusted. Has it ever occurred to you that you are every bit as prejudiced as my other master? Have you ever stopped to wonder about what this is costing me? Or are you as ignorant as you seem, and never spare a thought for the fact that I have feelings too?_

"Yes," he said tiredly, leaving the retort unspoken as his anger died. "It will." _Damnit. I need more than this. I can't do this alone. _Turning away without another word, he walked off into the darkness, trudging through the snow towards the dungeon entrance, his shoulders slumping under the almost physical weight of everything he had been trying not to think about.

* * *

><p>Insomnia was one of the words Severus most hated, in the entire spectrum of the English language, because almost nobody who used it ever really knew what it actually meant. People joked about it, they thought because they had difficulty sleeping one night it made them an insomniac. Witless teenagers showed off, telling people they had insomnia when in reality they stayed awake deliberately because they thought it was somehow cool to be overtired or because it gave them an excuse to be stroppy little bastards. The reality was a disease. More than almost anything else in the world, he just wanted to sleep, and he couldn't.<p>

Sprawled on his back on his bed, he stared at the ceiling by the odd and indefinable faint light that filtered down below ground to the dungeons, his eyes itching and burning with exhaustion. His whole body felt heavy, fatigue dragging at him like a physical weight that was almost a kind of pain. The argument with Dumbledore had been a mistake, he told himself wearily; he never should have pushed for a conversation at all. He'd known how it would turn out. He had already known that Dumbledore didn't trust him and saw him as scum; he hadn't needed to hear it said yet again.

Blinking slowly, he sighed; it served him right, really. He never had learned to leave well enough alone; it was the same compulsion as picking at scabs. What good would it do him to confront reality again? He should have kept on not thinking about it.

Damn Dumbledore to hell. Would it really kill the old man to give him something, _anything _to cling to? Severus didn't even need hope; he had resigned himself to inevitable death a long time ago. He just didn't want to die with everyone thinking he was a traitor. Just one person on his side would have been enough, but there never had been anyone, not completely, not as far back as his memories went.

Once more, his thoughts slid back to the lab a couple of weeks ago, and that rather odd conversation with Hermione. It was the first time in a long while he'd given any thought to his parents, really...

Eileen Snape had been a distant, sad woman; even in his earliest fuzzy memories he couldn't remember ever seeing her smile without a shadow of sorrow in her face. There had been something worn down, something hopeless in her. Certainly she had never seemed to see her son as a blessing. She had never said that she loved him, either, and she hadn't been able to protect him – he didn't really remember her ever trying, but even as a small boy he had understood that it wasn't necessarily because she didn't want to but because she couldn't.

Most of his early education had come from her, but again, the harsh circumstances of their lives had shaped so much of him. His skill with the Dark Arts dated right back to when he was young; he'd learned to read using an old and quite dark spellbook and for years the only books he'd had access to were other, darker books that she had inherited from her family. They simply couldn't afford anything else. When other children had been reading stories and nursery rhymes, he had been learning about hexes and counter-curses. She'd taught him to read and write early; he'd need quick wits and intelligence to overcome the deficiencies of his upbringing. He hadn't actually used magic for a long time, although it had manifested around the time he had learned to walk, before he'd learned to speak; even then, part of him had recognised that it was better not to show it openly.

His upbringing had been a very strange blend of Muggle and magical, far more divided than that of most half-bloods. When his father was around, they lived very strictly as Muggles; only when he was absent could Eileen teach her son about magic. At the time, he had resented it, but looking back now Severus could see what an advantage such a childhood had given him; he had learned to survive in either world and to move between them far more easily than most would ever manage, learning to blend in.

Survival had been the main lesson his father had taught him, he reflected quietly. Almost all his memories of Tobias Snape were of a desperate, angry man struggling hopelessly against everything. The Snapes had been very poor; his father's people had never been rich, but they had rubbed along well enough for a time, and in his earliest memories there hadn't been much darkness. Even then, Snape Senior had been having problems with drink, and he was naturally a violent drunk, but it had been a rare occurrence.

And then the mill and the factory had closed down.

Severus smiled thinly in the darkness and shook his head. No wizard and few Muggles could possibly understand the impact that such a small thing could have; their entire neighbourhood had been destroyed. Almost everyone on the estate had worked there and now they were all unemployed; nobody could afford to commute, and in those days only the very richest families owned a car. Virtually overnight the area where he lived had gone from a low but acceptable standard of living to a horrific state of poverty.

It had broken his father. Suddenly, Tobias had become a failure, both in his job and in his duty as head of the family. If he had been less proud, he could have allowed his wife's magic to support them, but... that time and that place bred a proud people. Tobias had never been comfortable with being married to a witch, and he had quickly become bitterly resentful, taking out all his frustration and anger on her because he had no other target. Severus remembered watching truly horrifying scenes of violence with a child's resigned acceptance, and later accepting that violence being turned on him with the same resignation; there had been nothing he could have done to stop it, and even as a young boy he had recognised that crying or begging would only make it worse – that, too, was a lesson his mother had taught him.

As for why she had never used magic, either to protect herself or to defend her son... it had taken him years to work that one out. At the time he had hated her for leaving them both so vulnerable, for not helping them, for not saving him the way mothers were supposed to fight for their children. Looking back now, he knew she had never been strong, and he suspected she hadn't been well treated as a child either, and she simply hadn't had the strength and the spirit to oppose the man she must presumably have once cared about.

He supposed, now, that people would be appalled to hear him speak of his childhood, but in the context of the time and place it had been all too normal. He hadn't been the only abused child of a battered wife on the estate or even just in his street. It wasn't good, but it happened, and you either learned to survive it or you let it break you. If he was grateful for anything, it was that he hadn't turned out like his father – spiteful, petty bastard though he knew he could be, he'd never been that bad. Watching domestic violence had been normal, and being a victim of it had been normal, but he had never felt the urge to deal it out for himself, never physically abused anyone weaker than himself except at Voldemort's direct order. He wasn't a violent drunk, either; as with everything else in his life, alcohol just sent him deeper into himself.

He had no taste for rape, either, and one of the largest lies he had told the Dark Lord was his claim of impotence. Far better to endure the mockery of his fellows than to be forced to violate some poor man or woman, even if it meant he ended up taking the place of the victim on occasion. Severus wasn't sure why he'd never seen sexual assault as normal, but he remembered the first time he'd seen his father attack his mother; he couldn't have been more than three or four years old. He'd been far too young to understand what he was seeing, but even then he'd had the overwhelming feeling that it was something very, very wrong, that his father was somehow perverting something that should have been good. Where that idea had come from, he couldn't say, but he was grateful for it now. He might well be a monster, but he did still have a line that he couldn't cross.

Severus thought dispassionately of his parents as a couple, and shook his head. He had no idea why they had ever married. He knew that Tobias had known Eileen was a witch before they had wed, and he knew that she hadn't fallen pregnant until several years after the wedding, so it was a mystery to him. Given his father's attitude to magic, he couldn't see how they could ever have been in love, and certainly by the time he was old enough to remember anything they hadn't seemed to even like each other. He had learned nothing about normal human relationships and interactions from them.

And then they had died, when he was only sixteen. He didn't like thinking about that time very much. He had come home for the summer, already knowing he had lost Lily, already knowing she would never forgive him no matter how hard he tried because she didn't _want_ to forgive him this time, and he had let himself into the house and been greeted by a cold silence, a moment of sudden fear and a truly appalling smell of decay before walking into the front room to find them both dead. In the space of a couple of weeks, his entire life had fallen apart.

The Muggle authorities had explained gently to him that there had been a gas leak, that carbon monoxide had poisoned them both. At the time, he had accepted it, too numb to do anything else; it hadn't been until some years later that he had guessed the truth. It had been a gas leak, yes, but it hadn't been an accident. He hadn't got a scrap of proof, but Severus was absolutely certain that his mother had deliberately poisoned both herself and her husband, and had done so in a way that could not be detected at a time when their son was away and could not be involved. He had suspected since adolescence that she planned to kill herself once he was old enough not to need her any more; it was a surprise that she had been brave enough to take Tobias with her, but if she hadn't done it, Severus knew he would have done. Understanding why his father had been the way he was didn't mean that he hated him any less or that he could ever have forgiven him.

He hadn't told anyone else. What would have been the point? He wasn't going to hide behind his dysfunctional childhood and use it in an attempt to justify the man he was now. Plenty of people had terrible childhoods; it wasn't a valid excuse. And if his early years had been different, he wouldn't have learned how to survive; he'd probably be dead now, and while sometimes he thought that might have been for the best, for the moment he was still needed. Not for much longer, but still, those early lessons had given him what he needed to play his story out until the end.

It didn't matter now; he let the memories slide back into the depths and stared at the ceiling once more. No, his family had never supported him. He flatly refused to think about Lily tonight; he felt bad enough as it was. The school... well, Dumbledore was as supportive now as he had ever been, which was all that needed saying. Poppy Pomfrey – she tried her best, and he appreciated that, but she wasn't involved in the war at all except for patching the holes in his worthless hide every so often. She was a Healer, that was her job, and he did like her but it wasn't what he needed. Dilys and Phineas were the closest things to allies he had, and they'd both been dead for centuries. They knew everything that had happened, though, and they were on his side. He just wished someone living was.

Of course, there was Hermione, although he tried to avoid thinking about her as much as possible because it just made his head hurt. But she didn't know the full story. He wasn't sure just how much she had been told, but she didn't know what he had done, or what he was almost certainly going to have to do. That, he admitted, was the real reason he was so frightened. He didn't want her to look at him as though he was a monster. And what would happen once Dumbledore was dead? Potter and Weasley would run to the Order, and he hoped she would have the sense to go with them and avoid Hogwarts like the plague, but he wouldn't put it past her to come back to finish her education – or possibly to revenge herself on him. And if she did... he had nightmares about what he could be forced to do to her.

It was tempting to tell her what was really happening, just so he would have someone on his side, but it wasn't fair to her. What good would it do? She couldn't help him get out of this. Adding to her worries to try and make himself feel better was just selfish, and it wouldn't affect the outcome. All things considered, it was almost a good thing that he probably wasn't going to live long enough for it to be a problem.

_Enough angst, _he told himself tiredly, concentrating on the cool quiet silence of his mental ocean, his thoughts calmed and slid away, his mind becoming still and blank and empty. It wasn't peace, but it was as close as he was going to get.

Morning found him in the same position, still lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. He didn't know if he had slept or not, but he probably hadn't. It didn't really matter; he was tired, but the extent of that tiredness wasn't really relevant. Time to get up, to go and get some fresh air and face the day and pretend nothing had happened.

* * *

><p><em>Potions fan art from the lovely <strong>RaShelli:<strong>_ rashelli dot deviantart dot com /#/d4ih3tj


	25. Chapter 25

__Lots of conversation and angsty introspection ahead. Enjoy.  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong>"You were standing in the wake of devastation,<br>And you were waiting on the edge of the unknown.  
>And with the cataclysm raining down,<br>Insides crying, "Save me now",  
>You were there, impossibly alone..."<strong>  
>– Linkin Park, 'Iridescent'.<p>

* * *

><p>A few evenings later, Hermione made her way to the infirmary once more, having finally given in and called a meeting of what she had long ago christened in her head Team Snape. Phineas was in the dungeons watching Snape at the moment, since tonight didn't seem to be a Summons night; Hermione settled in Madam Pomfrey's office with a cup of tea as Dilys joined them in her normal portrait.<p>

"So what's on your mind tonight?" the nurse asked quietly. "I know this isn't about your studies – which are going very well, by the way."

She smiled despite her concern. "Thanks, but no, that's not why I wanted to talk to you both. I'm getting worried about Professor Snape. More so than usual, I mean."

"Have you noticed something new?"

"Not... _new, _as such, no," she conceded, "but the usual things seem to be getting worse. In class, for example, he's snapping at everyone now, not just the people who annoy him most – even at the Slytherins, which he normally doesn't do. His temper is getting really bad..."

"He's snapping at you?" Dilys asked swiftly.

Hermione bit her lip and smiled ruefully. "Well, he always does in class, to be fair, or he ignores me completely. Outside lessons... sometimes, yes. In the mornings..." She hesitated and looked at Madam Pomfrey. "Do you know about..."

"The jogging? Yes, I knew you'd started running with him last year, and I assumed you would keep going as long as he allowed you to. Don't worry, Hermione, you're not doing anything wrong. It's done you both good, I think."

"Well, anyway," she continued hastily – she hoped the mediwitch didn't know _everything _– "he's different in the mornings as well now. He's never been a morning person, as far as I know, but it's not a question of not being talkative any more; sometimes I don't think he's actually capable of talking. He's always looked tired, but now he looks dangerously exhausted. I don't often try and talk to him, but when I do he doesn't even seem to hear me any more, and if I repeat myself until he does hear me he snaps."

Not only that, but he was really out of it some mornings; she'd seen him stumble far more often, catching his foot on tree roots or stones on a path he should know blindfold or slipping in mud that shouldn't have stopped him, his strides lacking the usual easy rhythm. And he'd been letting her take the lead a lot recently until he was following her, rather than the other way around. He just seemed so much less aware of his surroundings, which was really unlike him.

Madam Pomfrey nodded gravely and sat back in her chair, cradling her teacup in her hands. "His last check-up was on Tuesday, and he is showing far more signs of stress. He's lost weight again, his blood pressure is dangerously high, his muscle fatigue is getting worse and his reflexes and responses are nowhere near as good as they once were. Some of his other problems are improving – he does finally seem to have stopped drinking for good, at last, for example – but yes, things are getting worse. Dilys, what have you and Phineas seen recently?"

"Nothing good," the portrait reported softly. "We've noticed that he's not really eating – he tries, but he obviously has no appetite at all now and he usually just picks at his food. He's taking a lot more medication, too, potions and Muggle pills..."

"He's drinking Calming Draught a lot, I think," Hermione said. "I've smelled it on him recently. I thought the first time it was just on his clothes and that he'd just been brewing it, but we're fully stocked, and I can smell it in the mornings on his breath as well. Can you even use it like that?"

"You _can, _in theory, but you shouldn't," Madam Pomfrey said with a sigh. "And he knows that as well as I do. If he's really that stressed, then he's getting desperate. What else, Dilys? I know you try and watch him as much as possible now."

"His insomnia is getting worse, we think," the portrait replied. "It's hard to tell, since obviously it's dark and he's in bed, but we've noticed that normally when he sleeps he ends up curled up on his side and he doesn't seem to be doing that much now, so we think he's still awake for most of each night. The few times we're certain that he's slept, he wakes up from what seem to be quite bad nightmares after perhaps an hour."

"Occlumency is supposed to block almost all nightmares," Hermione said worriedly. "For someone as strong as he is, whatever's getting through must be horrifying..."

"By now he doesn't even try to go to bed a lot of the time. He sits up most of the night, working or brewing or reading, or goes out and walks around the castle constantly. I don't think he's had a decent stretch of sleep in weeks, and he's obviously fraying around the edges now."

"Is it related to whatever it is you're not allowed to tell us?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"What makes you ask that?"

"Well, he's not been Summoned any more often, and there's nothing new in the paper, and Ron's heard nothing from his brothers, so I don't think anything new has happened in the war," she replied logically, before hesitating. "Besides, it's a bit convoluted but Harry told me that Hagrid told him that he overheard Professor Snape and the Headmaster having an argument after Ron was poisoned. Hagrid didn't hear much but it was something about Professor Snape not wanting to do something, or being taken for granted. I don't know."

Dilys stared through her with a remote expression, and Hermione resisted the urge to swear. "You can't even say if it's true."

"If they fought, it wasn't in the castle – well, obviously not, if Hagrid overheard them. I can't comment. But I am aware there has been a... discussion."

"Can't you tell us anything at all?" Hermione asked pleadingly. "I'm really, really worried about him."

"I know you are, my dear, and I am sorry that I can't do more. Poor Severus does need someone else to know, but I am bound by enchantments that can't be broken. I physically cannot tell you what Albus has asked of him."

"Has it got anything to do with Draco?" she asked. "Can you... nod, or something, if I guess right?"

"I can't help you, Hermione. Believe me, I want to, but I can't. The Headmaster won't tell anyone, so unless you can somehow persuade Severus to, you won't know until it happens."

"And he's not going to tell you anything." The new voice was Phineas.

"You're supposed to be watching him."

"He's fallen asleep at his desk," the Slytherin reported, a little grimly. "Or passed out, possibly. I judged it best to leave him – besides, I wanted to hear this. Carry on trying to work it out, Miss Granger, by all means, and continue trying to weasel it out of Severus. Even someone as stubborn as he is can't go on like this forever."

"Want to bet?" she retorted with a sigh. "He's spent nearly forty years refusing to open up to anyone, as far as I can tell. He doesn't trust any of us."

"I don't think that's true," Madam Pomfrey said unexpectedly. "He just doesn't think you can do anything to help. He does seem to trust you, Hermione – certainly more than he does me," she added with an edge to her voice. "After almost three decades, you'd think he would have more faith in me, but there you are. I wish I knew why."

Hermione blinked. "I thought you already knew, or I'd have said something – I worked that out a while ago. I think it's because you're a Healer. It's your job to worry about him, so he assumes that's all it is. I chose to, so he has a bit more faith in my motives. I think."

"Bah. That does sound like him, actually. If he didn't look like he'd collapse if I did it, I'd throttle him. How anyone as smart as he is can be so stupid, I really don't know," the nurse said in a tone of such utter exasperation that Hermione started giggling, echoed by Dilys' laughter; even Phineas was smiling a little.

* * *

><p>Hermione glanced briefly at her essay as she retrieved it from the front of the classroom; next to the almost grudging 93 scrawled on the top were two words. <em>See me. <em>She smiled wryly to herself; even now, seeing those words in a teacher's handwriting caused an irrational flutter of panic as she automatically started worrying about what had been wrong with the homework. She knew full well that whatever Snape wanted to talk to her about had absolutely nothing to do with the assignment, since he would have said whatever he felt he needed to in the comments at the end, but still.

After the lesson she hefted her bag and went to stand in front of his desk as the rest of the class filed out, growing less subdued with every step away from the gloomy classroom until the corridor seemed to contain a riot. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

He nodded without looking up from his marking, reaching out with his free hand to pick up a sheet of parchment from the desk and holding it out to her. "Read this."

She took the parchment and scanned it quickly; it was a list of ingredients and a Potions formula, written in Snape's distinctive narrow, spiky and in this case almost unintelligible handwriting. Shifting her weight back on her heels, she read it through a couple of times, frowning; it was one of the most complicated she had ever seen, more difficult than Polyjuice or any of the potions they had brewed in their NEWT class so far.

"Could you brew this?" Snape asked the essay he was working on in a slightly distant tone of voice.

"What potion is this, sir?"

"Wolfsbane, as you had already guessed," he replied laconically, finally glancing up through the curtains of his lank black hair, his dark eyes as unreadable as ever. "Answer the question, Miss Granger."

She looked back at the parchment in her hand and bit her lip. "I don't know, sir. Maybe, if you were there to walk me through it and give me a hand if I get stuck."

"Not unsupervised?"

"I wouldn't want to risk it, sir. It's more difficult than anything I've done so far."

He nodded and sat back in his chair, sighing. "We'll have to try and find some time for you to attempt a practice run, then. God knows when."

"Why, sir?" she asked tentatively, already certain she didn't really want to hear the answer and with a feeling that she already knew, and he gave her a rather bleak look that in all honesty wasn't much different from his usual expression these days.

"Because someone else in the Order needs to be able to brew it, and I wouldn't trust anyone else with even a basic first-year potion, let alone this."

That had actually been quite a nice compliment, if you squinted, but Hermione was more interested in the first part of the sentence despite the fact that she'd been desperate for Snape to offer even a small bit of praise for her abilities for six years. "In case something happens to you, sir?" she asked, trying to find a crack in his words that might persuade him to open up a bit.

"_When _something happens to me," he corrected her bluntly, his eyes darkening.

"Sir?" she questioned, hoping like hell she was wrong.

"Don't be foolish, Miss Granger. You're not naïve. The chances are very good indeed that I will be dead within six months." She couldn't quite stop herself from gasping, and he actually rolled his eyes. "Your melodrama is both unnecessary and unappreciated."

"But... how do you know, sir?" she asked weakly. "Has – has something happened?"

He shook his head and shrugged, his expression one of total indifference. "I've stopped deluding myself. Quite apart from anything else, you may or may not be aware that this job is cursed. One way or another, I'll be gone at the end of the summer term, and the odds are strongly in favour of my being killed rather than being able to leave under my own steam or simply tamely returning to my previous job. Even without that... come, Miss Granger. You are well known for your intelligence; even with your limited experience of Healing, you must surely be aware of how much the human body can endure. I can't keep this up indefinitely. Sooner or later I will reach my limit, and it is more likely to be sooner than later. And, of course, I may well be caught out and revealed as a traitor to the Dark Lord." He steepled his fingers and regarded her pensively. "Whatever happens, the Order will need a replacement brewer when it does. You are more than capable of brewing the necessary Healing potions already, but the Wolfsbane is important."

Hermione stared at him in numb horror. The worst part was that he didn't seem bothered; he was discussing his own impending death as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. What the hell was it that he wasn't saying? She knew the stuff about reaching his limits was nonsense, and she wasn't convinced that the curse on his job would kill him. No, this was about whatever Dumbledore was making him do; the bleak resignation in his eyes told her very clearly that he had decided that he wouldn't survive. He had given up, and that was probably going to be what killed him. At the same time, he was a realist and he clearly hated Voldemort with every fibre of his being; if he had given up, then it meant his chances of survival actually were pretty much zero.

He sighed and gave her a rather exasperated look. "Don't look at me like that, girl. I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know; it's hardly my fault if you were refusing to admit it."

"...It shouldn't be like this," she whispered, tangling her hands in the sides of her robe to try and stop herself from trembling as her eyes started to sting. His eyes were calm and accepting; he was facing the prospect of his probably rather unpleasant and lingering death with far more courage than she was.

Snape shrugged again, his tone a little softer. "People die in wars. Better I than many others. With luck, I will die with my cover intact, and I may perhaps be able to buy a little time by doing so. There are worse ends."

"Don't you care?" she asked thickly. She knew she should use this opportunity to ask what was really going on, but she knew she couldn't actually force the words out right now.

Something nameless stirred in the depths of his eyes, but she couldn't tell what it was; he was Occluding again. "I have never attached all that much value to my life, Miss Granger. The world will certainly be no worse off if Severus Snape is no longer in it; quite the reverse, in some ways. I won't be missed."

"Yes, you will," she said very softly, daring to meet his eyes directly; he blinked, caught off guard, and for a brief moment that lasted no more than a second he looked startlingly vulnerable before the shields slammed home behind his eyes once more.

"Foolish Gryffindor," he growled, scowling at her. "It changes nothing. This is reality. Now take those instructions with you and look them over; I will try and find the time to help you brew it. And if you intend to start crying," he added warningly, "wait until you're out of my classroom or I will not be responsible for my actions. You may go."

In order to obey that final instruction, she had to leave the room at a dead run, but the first tear didn't fall until she had cleared the doorway.

* * *

><p>After Granger had gone, Severus tried to focus on his paperwork, with limited success. It was always the same old story... he would just be getting a grip on things again, managing to sort out all his tangled thoughts and emotions and finding some stability, and then she'd do or say something – completely innocently – to ruin his attempts at control. There had been real pain in her eyes at the thought of him dying, and that small change of expression as she had turned away had been enough to stir everything up again. It didn't resurrect any long-dead hopes or anything like that, though, he was too resigned for that now; it just gave him a headache and soured his already pretty sour mood.<p>

Some time later he was distracted from a manful struggle with the third year essays by a tap at the door and glanced up; he was still working in his classroom both because it was easier and because now he was teaching above ground it was a hell of a lot warmer up here than it was in his dungeon office. His circulation was well and truly shot by this point and he needed all the warmth he could get.

The visitor turned out to be Minerva, and he regarded his colleague warily; they hadn't really spoken since their fight back in October, not privately. He could see at a glance that she was still a little angry with him, but there was nothing new there; she had been angry with him since he was eleven. Far worse than her anger was the peculiar softness in her eyes that he hadn't seen since the last few weeks of the last war when he'd been half dead and the terrible time afterwards when he'd barely been sane.

Pretending not to have noticed – it made him horribly uncomfortable – he sat back and arched an eyebrow and inquired sardonically, "What have the little nuisances done now?"

"I'm not here to talk about the students," she said quietly, and he bit back a sigh. _Of course you're not._

"Then I don't believe we have anything to discuss," he replied curtly, turning back to the pile of essays.

"Oh, stop it, Severus. You don't have to act like this all the time. Stop pretending to work and talk to me." She closed the door and crossed the room to his desk, conjuring herself a wing-backed armchair and settling down before giving him a concerned look. "You look dreadful."

"Thank you. I'm glad we had this conversation. Goodbye."

"I'm being serious. You haven't looked this bad since the last war," she told him, echoing his earlier thoughts. "There's obviously something wrong."

He gave her an apathetic look. A small part of him wanted to laugh scornfully – there was an awful lot wrong, actually – and another part wanted to ask viciously what the hell made her think it was any of her business, but mostly he just wanted her to stop talking about it and leave him alone; he felt bad enough already. "A great many things," he said tiredly, "none of which really concern you."

"Don't snarl, Severus," she chided him gently. "I'm worried about you."

_You never have been before. _He had far too many memories of watching bleakly as she came to the defence of her precious Gryffindors, facing down his spineless excuse for a Head of House while he waited resignedly to see what punishment he'd be left with this time. He barely felt even a twinge of bitterness any more; it had been too long ago and he had too many more immediate problems on his mind. This time, however, he kept the retort to himself and answered more quietly. "I'll do what I'm supposed to do, never fear. I always do, don't I?"

Minerva sighed. "You're not just a tool to be used. I can't help it if you feel like that, but I am worried about _you, _not just your job. Won't you tell me now what's going on? Albus still won't say but I know he's asked you to do something very difficult..."

"You could say that, yes," he muttered, shaking his head. It occurred to him that she was probably a little hurt at being excluded; she was probably the closest Dumbledore had to a best friend and they had been confidantes for a long time now. She wouldn't be happy that he was refusing to tell her what was going on. _Join the club._

"Why don't you trust him, Severus?" she asked softly. "I know you were treated... really rather badly, when you were a student, and I have tried to make it up to you since then, you know. So has he. But it hasn't seemed to make much difference. Is there something else going on that I don't know about?"

He avoided her eyes. No point shattering her illusions. She'd be all right, Dumbledore wouldn't throw her to the wolves, but he couldn't say the same. He didn't trust the old man because the old man didn't trust him, and because he knew the Headmaster wouldn't give a damn when he died, except perhaps if he found it mildly inconvenient. His life had no importance, no value to his master. Besides, Dumbledore was a scheming, manipulative old hypocrite and nowhere near the snow-white saint that he seemed to be... but nobody else knew that, and nobody would believe him. He'd take the fall; better that the Order hate him, their pet black sheep they had never liked, than their leader that they all loved and trusted and believed in.

"I have my reasons," he answered softly after a while. "Enough, Minerva. You're not my mother. I... I appreciate your concern... but you can't help with this. Nobody can. If I thought you could, I'd have asked by now," he admitted with total honesty; he couldn't afford pride any more.

"At least talk to me about it. You really do look dreadful and this is obviously putting a lot of strain on you..."

He shook his head wearily. "Talking won't help. I'm not like that, you know I'm not, and talking never solves anything anyway. A problem shared isn't a problem halved, it's a problem doubled. There is no point in both of us worrying about it. I'll survive." _But Dumbledore won't. And I don't think I want to. _He swallowed and met her eyes without expression, holding her gaze until she looked away with a sigh.

"Well, I tried. You're too stubborn for your own good, you know, Severus. It's not good for you to be this alone."

_As if I have a choice. _If nobody wanted to spend any time with you, you got used to being on your own. That was just how life worked. He shrugged in response, turning his eyes back to his marking, and after a moment she sighed again and rose, Vanishing her chair and letting herself out.

* * *

><p>That night, sleep was even more of a distant impossibility than it usually was. Severus let himself out of his rooms and wandered through the darkened castle – most of the students never realised that the teachers really didn't patrol the school at night very often, during peacetime at least, and that most of the time if he caught them out of bed it was an accident rather than because he was hunting troublemakers. He liked to walk around at night. He hadn't had a good time as a student, and he didn't like his job, especially now, but Hogwarts was the closest thing to a real home that he had ever known; he would never admit it, but he did love the castle.<p>

With no specific destination in mind, he walked slowly through the shadowy corridors, listening to the near-silence. The portraits and the ghosts were all familiar with his habits and although he sometimes saw movement from the corner of his eye, they left him alone at night and wouldn't try to speak to him unless he initiated a conversation. For once, he didn't think there were any students wandering around either. It was raining, he noticed absently as he walked past a window, and he paused for a moment to watch the drops running down the outside of the glass before impulsively turning and increasing his pace, heading for one of his old haunts.

God, he hadn't been up here for years. Severus looked around as he emerged into the rain on top of the Astronomy Tower, shaking his head ruefully; other youngsters might have sneaked up here to snog, but he'd had a different idea in mind. Well aware that this was daft, he moved to the point where the railing met the outer wall and stepped up onto the rail, steadying himself against the stone of the tower's peak as he turned; reaching up, he caught the edge of the roof of the turret and jumped to pull himself up onto the roof slates, gratified to find that he could still do it. Scrabbling for purchase on the wet slate, he clawed his way up to the very peak of the roof and crouched to catch his breath, grinning for a moment despite himself. He hadn't been up here since his student days... God, almost twenty years ago.

"I really am getting old," he told himself dryly, shifting to pull his robe out of the way and kneeling at the roof's apex, steadying himself with one hand resting lightly on the slates and looking around. There wasn't much to see; the rain and the clouds hid the moon and stars, and there were no lights visible in the castle tonight. Even Hogsmeade was in darkness. It didn't matter; he could remember the view from up here in daylight, when he'd dared to stand up right on the roof's highest point and it had seemed as though he could see to the end of the world, with the whole castle spread out beneath him and the distant moors seeming to go on forever.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and let the rain blow into his face as it began to soak through his clothes, feeling the wind tugging at him. Heights had never scared him, and if he fell now he did know how to fly. Whether he would do so or not... he half-smiled, licking rain off his upper lip. No, he wasn't the suicidal type. It was very tempting, sometimes, and it would certainly make matters simpler, but his sense of duty was stronger than that.

The world was different up here, clearer and yet more distant all at once. He'd always found it easier to think, here. The last time he had come up here was when he had found out that Lily had finally said yes when Potter asked her out, and he'd lain full length on the sloping roof anchored only by his arms around the steeple while he thought things through and worked it all out in his head. Now he once again had a great deal to think about, but it was rather more important now than his teenage angst had been.

His thoughts turned first to his masters, both of them. Oddly, it was Dumbledore he disliked most and served more reluctantly; that probably wouldn't have surprised any of his colleagues in the Order, but he knew they wouldn't understand why. He followed Dumbledore purely because they happened to be on the same side; he had no faith in the old man, never had, and he knew he was one of the few people to see the manipulative, ruthless and sometimes just plain petty bastard behind the twinkly-eyed facade. Voldemort, though... slowly he tugged back the wet cloth of his sleeve and looked down at the Dark Mark, clear and black against his pale skin and glistening in the rain.

This was what nobody understood about double agents; whichever side won, Severus would lose. Voldemort had been the first person in his life to ever treat him as if he was worth something, the first one to ever give him the chance to prove himself. His initiation and branding had been horrific, yes, but he'd been so proud afterwards, proud of the way he'd endured the pain, proud of his new Mark that was visible proof that he belonged somewhere. And, at first, he had been well treated, the way all of them were. He had been led gently deeper, slowly and gradually, and it had been a long time before he'd had any reason at all to hesitate and wonder if this was really what he wanted after all.

It had all been lies, of course. He had never meant anything to Voldemort, any more than any of the other Death Eaters had. But, oh, he'd known what lies to tell. The man Severus remembered had been a gifted, charismatic, compelling figure, able to judge a nervous young man in a single glance and shape his approach accordingly. Those who wanted power were allowed to taste it; those with deviant tastes were given opportunities they could only dream of; those who wanted revenge were listened to with sympathy and agreed with; those who, like Severus, wanted to be part of something greater than themselves were welcomed and made to feel valued, as though they were important.

It hadn't lasted. Nothing ever did, in his experience. The tasks asked of him grew darker, and more bloody, and the punishments grew harsher. Voldemort began to change, growing less human, less empathic, more dangerous and more unstable. Severus had finally admitted to himself that he had been wrong, and he had watched fatalistically as other people had made the same admission and tried to run away; he'd seen what had happened to them, and he'd kept his head down. He hadn't wanted a way out enough to risk it... until he found out that Lily was in danger.

That was still his worst memory. The knowledge that he had unknowingly betrayed his only friend – it didn't matter that she hadn't liked him any more; once Severus decided someone was his friend, they remained so in his eyes for ever, regardless of how they saw him – still haunted him. He'd begged Voldemort to spare her, he recalled with shame, indifferent to the fate of her husband and infant son. And that was where Voldemort had made a mistake. He had said he would _try _to avoid killing her. He had been honest. If he had only had the sense to lie, to promise that of course he would let her live because it was only the child he wanted, Severus would have believed him without question.

This was the truth of the strange dilemma that lay on the razor's edge he walked every day. In his way, Voldemort had been the kinder master. He had misled Severus to lure him in, certainly, but he had never explicitly lied to him that Severus could recall. There had been no emotional blackmail, only a simple system of 'obey this order and you'll get this reward; fail me and you'll get this punishment'. No misdirection, no manipulation, just simple black and white. Loyalty had been rewarded fairly and ability had been valued and nurtured; no hypocrisy, no hesitation. It was a sickening contrast to the way of life Severus led under Dumbledore. Despite the torture, despite every foul thing he'd been forced to do... he liked Voldemort more than he liked Dumbledore. At least the leader of the Death Eaters was honest about what he was, and had insanity as an excuse for some of the worst excesses.

It might be Lily that had made him change sides, but Dumbledore had failed and broken his promise and she had died. Nothing had held him to his vow. He could have gone back to the Death Eaters in truth, been valued and welcomed back to the fold. If he had, the war would be over by now. Unlike Dumbledore, Voldemort listened to him and took advantage of his information; had Severus served him loyally, the Order would have lost by now. God knows he'd had enough reasons to do it, after so many years of appalling treatment. But despite everything, Severus did have a conscience, and he knew in his heart that Voldemort was wrong. He'd just needed that final push to make him do something about it and to make him realise that he would never, ever forgive Voldemort for giving him false hope of something real, for making him feel so settled and wanted only to take it away from him.

Admittedly, he told himself wryly, blinking rain out of his eyes, it was a lot easier now that his master was a mutant half-snake who was absolutely fucking bonkers. It hadn't always been this straightforward.

Neither of his masters had any real claim on his soul now, though. Voldemort had betrayed his trust when he was eighteen, and Dumbledore had betrayed his trust when he was eleven. Neither of them had ever understood him well enough to command his loyalty, and they could have done. It wasn't difficult. All either of them had needed to do was to treat him like a human being and care what happened to him, and he would have followed either of them to Hell and back over broken glass. He snorted a soft laugh; without even trying, a seventeen year old girl had succeeded where the two most powerful and dangerous wizards in the world had failed.

It was time to stop lying to himself and really make himself think about Hermione Granger. Sighing, Severus wiped rain from his face and shifted position on the roof, carefully and slowly standing up, planting his boots either side of the peak and letting the wind tug at his now drenched clothes; this was probably going to make him ill again, but the cold was clearing his mind and he had always liked the rain.

In a way, it was almost funny. After Lily's death he'd walled himself up completely, both literally and metaphorically. He'd never been emotional but that had shattered him and he had withdrawn from the world. He'd stayed in the dark, quiet, cold place inside himself for years, avoiding everything and everyone, existing in a vacuum; and then, somehow, completely innocently and utterly ignorant of what she was doing, Hermione had somehow found a way around, under and through all his defences, working her way through his shields before he'd had a chance to realise what was going on. He still didn't understand what the fuck had happened, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. He'd realised over a year ago that he ran the risk of getting far more deeply involved than he wanted to, that she was a real and serious risk to him, but he suspected it had already been too late.

Severus didn't really know what to call it. The only thing he had to compare it to had been his doomed, obsessive, hopeless reliance on Lily, and it had been long enough and he was honest enough to acknowledge that it had been based on need and desperation. There had been nobody else in his life, and he had been younger then, less able to survive on his own. This was different, and he really didn't understand it. He supposed it must be love, of a sort, because surely nothing else could be this painful or this confusing, but how was he supposed to know? He wasn't sure any more if he had ever been in love properly, and certainly nobody had ever loved him.

Looking at it from a different angle, it didn't really matter. Even if there had been no war, no imminent death approaching – well, if there hadn't been a war he'd never have got to know her the way he had and it would have been irrelevant anyway – if things were different, he would still never dare say or do anything about it. What would be the point? Even as an ignorant teenager he had known when he was out of his depth. Pretty, intelligent young women did not end up with ugly, cold, damaged bastards like him. The world simply didn't work that way.

Ignoring all that, though, it was important that he admit to himself just how much of a hold she had over him. To be honest, without her steadfast presence at the edges of his life, he would probably have given up by now and either broke and run for it or simply stopped trying to stay alive. Whatever his reasons before, she was really the only reason he was still trying to fight. For that reason alone, she was important. And hell, she might confuse him more than anyone else ever had, and she might haunt his dreams in ways that disturbed him, and her presence might sometimes hurt, but her friendship was the best thing in his life, and she really and truly cared about him, at least a little. At least someone would mourn when he died.

Briefly he thought of Lily again, Lily as she had been the day he had first met her, the pretty little girl laughing excitedly as he proudly showed her one of the only silly little bits of magic he'd been capable of, her eyes shining with excitement and pleasure; he remembered how happy he'd been to realise that he'd made her happy, which had been completely outside his experience. He thought of Diagon Alley, that first time; he'd only ever been twice before, with his mother, and he'd been trying so painfully hard to pretend he knew it all, showing off for her and her family, so pleased with himself still.

That was the point, though. Ever since they'd first met, he had been trying to please her, trying to impress her. He couldn't remember ever allowing himself to relax and just be himself for more than perhaps half an hour at a time, constantly guarding himself in case he said or did something wrong. She had very definitely been the one in charge, and looking back now he could find scores of instances when she had taken advantage of it. Their friendship had been painfully skewed and uneven and in the long run it had probably done him more harm than good. Being that dependent on anyone and getting so little in return...

Despite that, though, he could still call up every last detail of her face, right down to the freckle above the corner of her mouth, as clear in his mind's eye as Hermione's features were now; he could draw them both with almost photographic accuracy, and had done so more than once. Severus thought for a while, trying to compare the feelings he remembered with the newer ones that preoccupied him now; his bizarre friendship with his student was certainly just as confusing as it had been with Lily, but less painful, at least most of the time. It was more equal – ironic, given how far apart they were – and he wasn't under quite so much pressure. It felt easier; more than that, it felt nicer. He had to admit that being friends with Lily had been very hard work.

Once again, inevitably, his thoughts returned to the lake and the incident that had set the course of the rest of his life. It had taken years for him to assess the events of that afternoon and the rest of that term with any kind of clarity. Now, carefully, he tried to imagine what would have happened had it been Hermione there instead of Lily, if he'd said that word under those circumstances to her. She could be vindictive when hurt, yes, but he simply couldn't see her joining in with the Marauders' bullying and cruelty no matter what he'd said; she would have gone to find a teacher and had someone stop what was happening, and then hexed him later in private, or quite possibly kicked him in the balls. Lily had absolutely broken his heart that day, and even now he didn't think he'd really recovered; he'd never dared fully trust anyone since.

Not that it really mattered. Whatever she'd said or done, no matter how harshly she'd refused his every desperate attempt to fix things, his feelings hadn't changed. The agony of her death was still with him. He still missed her, sometimes, although not as strongly as he had done, nor as frequently. Closing his eyes, he wondered pensively if he was still in love with her or not; he'd never been entirely clear. Presumably that meant he wasn't, since he did feel far more certain about Hermione even if the realisation didn't make him happy. He considered making another attempt at his Patronus and decided there was no point; it wasn't exactly a reliable method of measuring emotions, and watching it trying to take two shapes at once was rather depressing. Nostalgia was all very well, but quite simply, Lily was dead and her memory caused him more pain than joy. Hermione was alive and for reasons beyond his understanding seemed to sort of like him despite all the reasons why she shouldn't, and made him feel slightly better about himself than he thought he ever had. Disregarding all his tangled confusion and worry and doubt, he liked her, without anything else getting in the way. That was good enough for him.

It had stopped raining; Severus looked up at the clouds overhead for a moment, then sat down carefully and slid down the roof, twisting deftly to catch the edge of it as though it had only been last week since he'd done it; hanging for a moment, he dropped onto the blessedly flat solid stone and drew his wand to start drying himself off, feeling a little better. The situation might be completely hopeless, but at least he knew what he was facing, and it was something of a relief to consider that he was unlikely to survive it – no need to face the consequences. Pushing his damp hair back from his face, he let himself back into the castle, closing the door behind him and making his way down the stairs, finally tired enough to sleep.

* * *

><p>Hermione was sitting at Madam Pomfrey's desk and absorbed in a book about skin rashes and the merits of external versus internal treatment when Snape showed up to speak to the nurse. It was quite late, approaching the time when she should be leaving her studies to go to bed, but not excessively so for the aftermath of a Summons and he didn't seem to be wounded, or at least not badly. She watched him through the office door as he spoke to the mediwitch too quietly to be heard; he was trembling and there was blood on his shirt cuff and his expression seemed odd, somehow, but he wasn't limping or anything.<p>

Finally he turned away, ending the quiet conversation, and walked slowly through the infirmary; Hermione padded to the doorway to watch as he shrugged out of his robe on the move and tossed it onto a bed before making his way to the small bathroom off the hospital wing and closing the door behind him.

"Is he sleeping here tonight?" she asked, somewhat surprised. To her knowledge, he only did that if he passed out up here, and he usually left for his own rooms as soon as he regained consciousness.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "I would tell you the medical reason, but to be honest I don't think there is one. He's been having a bad time of things recently, as I know you've noticed, and I believe he just doesn't want to be on his own. I haven't seen him like this since he was a teenager." She sighed, looking towards the closed door worriedly.

"He's not hurt, then?"

"Not as far as I can tell, no. I think he was made to do something unpleasant tonight, but it seems to have hit him harder than usual. He's in rather an odd mood."

"That'll make a change, then," she replied mischievously. The nurse tried to give her a look of reproach, but failed, stifling a soft laugh.

"I don't think he knows you're up here. If you'd like to finish the chapter you're on, you should probably go to bed anyway, it's getting late. You can let yourself out; I won't be up much longer once he's settled."

Nodding, she returned to the office.

* * *

><p>Three chapters later, Hermione finally made herself stop, knowing that if she didn't she would work right through until sunrise – she'd done it many times before, losing track of time. Putting the book back on the small shelf now reserved for her, she crept to the doorway and peered into the now silent, darkened infirmary.<p>

"He's asleep," Dilys told her from the wall in a muted whisper. "Go and check on him, if you like. He's dosed himself with something – not a sleeping potion, but he's definitely taken some sort of sedative because he went out like a light and he's too much of an insomniac for that, especially now. He won't wake until morning, which will do him the world of good."

The temptation proved too much to resist, and she tiptoed down the length of the room to look at the sleeping man by the faint light filtering around the edge of the curtains and from the dim lamp at the other end. Snape was curled into a surprisingly compact ball under the blankets, and although he was obviously dead to the world it didn't seem to be peaceful sleep; he was shivering fitfully, the near-permanent crease between his brows was if anything deeper than it was when he was awake, his eyes were moving restlessly behind closed lids and the one hand that was visible was twitching. That shouldn't be happening if he was sedated, but she knew enough about his instincts to know that if he wasn't drugged in some way he'd have woken up and attacked her by now.

She'd never seen anyone look worried in their sleep before. Even unconscious, he looked stressed, tired and unhappy and visibly under strain. Watching him for a few moments, she finally shook her head and retreated to the other end of the room, glancing up at the portrait.

"If my familiar was still here and not with my parents, I'd send him over to sleep with him," she murmured, unable to completely suppress a small smile at the mental image it invoked. Crookshanks was the perfect companion in bed; he was warm, he didn't snore or fidget and his purr was almost supernaturally good at easing nightmares and sleeplessness. He had also seemed to like Snape on the two occasions they had met – at least, the two occasions she knew about. And in her opinion Snape was frankly more in need of a hug than anyone she had ever met.

Dilys grinned. "Now there's a picture. He does like animals, actually, but I can't see him sleeping with a cat. Anyway, you should keep tonight in mind in future – how someone sleeps can tell you a surprising amount about them. Poppy can tell you more tomorrow, or whenever you next get a chance to come here for a lesson; she's made something of a hobby of categorising students based on their favoured sleeping positions. I'm quite glad Severus is up here tonight, actually; Phineas wants to see you down in the dungeons."

"Why? There can't be anything I haven't already almost got into trouble for seeing," she replied sourly, remembering last year.

"I don't know, Hermione. He's down there more often than I am and he sees more than I do. If you don't go, he'll follow you around all day tomorrow, you know."

Sighing, she gave in with bad grace, glancing briefly at her unconscious teacher once more. "Is he going to be all right?"

"I don't know. With him, it's actually a bad sign that he's asking for help, even as obliquely as he did tonight. If Severus is growing desperate enough to seek anything from anyone, despite all his independence, then he's flagging."

"You still can't tell me what he's supposed to be working on, can you?"

The portrait shook her head sadly. "No. And believe me, Hermione, in this instance ignorance is well and truly bliss. You honestly don't want to know. I wish I didn't know. Try not to think about it, if you can, and go and see what the other stubborn and irritating Slytherin in your life wants tonight."

* * *

><p><em>He needs a hug. Or a slap. Or possibly both. Next time, the plot starts moving on again.<br>_


	26. Chapter 26

__Okay, enough of that, let's have some plot!  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong>"Suddenly the lights go out<br>Let forever drag me down  
>I will fight for one last breath<br>I will fight until the end..."**  
>– Breaking Benjamin, 'Dear Agony'.<p>

* * *

><p>By now Hermione could have followed the route down to the dungeons through the hidden and little-used passages blindfolded. Phineas was waiting for her in the frame opposite Snape's office door, and she regarded him tiredly, trying to hide her reluctant curiosity. "I'm not going to play games tonight, sir. What, exactly, do you want me to see this time?"<p>

He gave her an amused look, with almost no trace of the sneer that usually graced his pointed features. Over the past year and a half they had come to a truce of sorts and understood one another by now. "So impatient, Miss Granger. I thought you might like the chance to appreciate some art tonight."

She looked blankly at him for a moment before understanding dawned; her eyes widened and she shook her head emphatically. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because he'll kill me, for a start," she pointed out, staring at the portrait. "Because I don't want to snoop that far into his life and because I promised him last year that I would never look at anything too personal."

He rolled his eyes, surprisingly eloquently for a painting. "Relax, girl. He won't care. He's left them unwarded since the first time you looked around his rooms. Everything else has had its protection increased, in some cases to a level that would stop a charging giant, and he's actually destroyed some of his private notes, but for some reason his sketchbooks have been left untouched, and recently he has been drawing a lot more frequently. Don't tell me you're not curious."

"Of course I am, but that doesn't mean I have to look. I'm not Harry. I'll survive not knowing."

"If he minded, he would have protected them," Phineas said patiently. "It will give you a little insight. His art is very personal, as I have told you before. It's all very abstract, and frankly I don't recognise half of it, but everything there is important to him."

"All the more reason for me not to snoop."

"I repeat, they aren't protected. I think you need to see this. And if you don't, I may just tell him that you did."

"You bastard." She sighed unhappily. "Do you honestly think it's important, or are you just bored?"

"I think it's important," he said gravely, and Hermione gave in. She couldn't deny that she was curious, and it was perfectly logical that if Snape had wanted them kept private he would have guarded them somehow.

"Fine, but if he kills me I'm going to haunt your portrait for all eternity. What's his password at the moment?"

"_Peccavi._"

"Latin? That's new. What does it mean? It can't be a spell if he's using it as a password."

"I don't know. I'll see you inside."

Letting herself in through his office, Hermione looked around his living room quickly. There were a few changes; his desk was much neater and tidier, with far fewer books and papers scattered over it, and the liquor cabinet doors hung open to show that it was empty, and the sofa looked like it had been slept on quite frequently since she was last here. Padding through to the hallway beyond, she entered his bedroom and looked around. The screen in front of the piano had been pushed back, and the instrument was less dusty; the notebook and the bottle were missing from his bedside table; the bed looked as though it hadn't been slept in. Apart from that it was the same as before, and she cautiously approached this desk.

"The book with the green cover is his practice book, I think. He doodles in it, trying out techniques. It all looks like scribbles to me," Phineas explained from the wall. "The one with the blue cover is his standard sketchbook, if you like. He hasn't touched it very often since the war started, except to move it out of the way, but it has normal drawings in it of people and things around him. The one with the brown cover is the one he uses most, with his strange abstract art."

She glanced quickly through the green book first. Most of it was meaningless lines that presumably translated to actual shapes as part of some of the drawings in the other books. There were pencil shavings caught between a few of the pages, and the marks made by someone cleaning the nib of a quill on the edge of a page, and a few smudges of what looked like charcoal. The only thing of substance she found was an attempt at drawing the alphabet in calligraphic letters, not particularly successfully, and she laid the book back where she had found it before opening the blue one.

The first page held quite a good drawing of Professor McGonagall in a state of disapproval, and she stifled a giggle as she looked at her Transfiguration professor's stern eyes and pinched nostrils. It was slightly a caricature, but it was pretty lifelike. "He's very good."

"Only with things that are important to him. He couldn't draw a portrait of a stranger, for example. He almost goes into a trance when he draws, I've seen him do it plenty of times. It's not art as anyone else would understand it."

Hermione flicked through the rest of the book; most of the pages were blank and there were only half a dozen other drawings. One was an incredibly lifelike drawing of Madam Pomfrey, one was of a gargoyle she thought might be the one outside the Charms classroom, one was an insubstantial and less than half-finished drawing of the roof of the Great Hall, one was an equally incomplete sketch of a set of swings in a Muggle playground, and the final picture was a Thestral with a rather unsettling expression on its face. Those were followed by a gap where a page had been ripped out rather messily, but there wasn't enough left of the missing page to show what might have been drawn on it.

"The last book is nothing like that one," Phineas told her unconcernedly.

She hesitated before reaching for the final book, opening it at random and almost dropping it with a shocked gasp. The art in the blue book had been traditional pencil sketches, very well done and realistic; _this _art leaped off the page in stark black lines, jagged and abstract. Blinking, she cautiously turned a few pages, trying to make sense of the chaotic patterns; there didn't seem to be actual drawings in here, only impressions of things. Patterns reminiscent of chains were common, and others that called to mind barbed wire or stylised flames, and the occasional Greek letter that made no sense whatsoever.

Across one page was a winding series of lines that vaguely reminded her of a snake despite not looking remotely reptilian. Jagged and apparently random slashes and scratches filled odd corners, sometimes hinting at things – she found one that looked like the curve of a wing, and a couple that taken together almost looked like a segment of a clock face, and more than a few that looked like drawings of wounds. Smudges here and there made it seem as if the paper was bruised, and there was a smear of dried blood on one page, although probably by accident more than design

There were some concrete shapes in the insanity, though; mostly eyes. There were no other features, so it was all but impossible to identify whose they might be, and considering they were only lines in ink or charcoal without shading they were frighteningly expressive. One pair stared out of the page at her, so cold and hostile that she shivered reflexively; others seemed to be laughing, opened far too wide, or blazing with anger, although she couldn't really say how she knew. One set of eyes had slit pupils, and she recognised Voldemort's semi-reptilian stare with a shudder; those were opposite the cold eyes, and both were surrounded by jagged flames. Two pages later there were several sets of animal eyes, one pair recognisable as a cat and another that she thought might belong to Lupin's werewolf form, although she couldn't be sure. A bizarrely realistic drawing of a human skull took up most of another page, and the next few pages had been torn out haphazardly, leaving only a few marks on the scrap of paper remaining at the spine of the book.

Not everything in there was hostile; one or two of the sets of eyes seemed rather sad, somehow, and some of the patterns seemed to be benign even if she couldn't tell what they were, tending towards curves and curls rather than jagged points and spikes. The ink was smudged in a couple of places, and a few pages near the back had the odd brittle texture of paper that had been soaked in a spill and dried out, sticking together slightly at the edges.

"This looks like it belongs to a different man," she murmured, carefully closing the book and setting it down exactly in its former place. "An insane one."

"Severus has not had the luxury of being entirely sane in years," Phineas told her, only partly sarcastic. "Does any of that make more sense to you than it does to me?"

"Not really, to be honest." She drew her wand from her belt and began carefully trying to remove as much residue as possible, trying to make it less obvious that she had been here. Unprotected or not, Snape surely wouldn't be happy.

"It was worth a try."

"You're really worried about him, aren't you? Is there no way you can tell me what's burdening him so much now?" The former Headmaster was a Slytherin; maybe he had found a loophole...

Phineas shook his head. "None. But by all means, continue to try and persuade him to tell you. He insists that he can cope alone, but he is fraying at the edges and I don't know how long he'll last without help."

"I'll try, but we all know he won't listen."

* * *

><p>Whatever sedative Snape had taken, it wore off in time for him to meet her outside the dungeons as usual the next morning. His odd mood the previous evening seemed to have eased; he looked his usual self, tired and uncommunicative but reasonably all right. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye as they began to make their way around the circuit; she had noticed recently that it was less of a challenge to keep up with him, and although she would like to think she was getting fitter she was certain they had slowed down. Snape was clearly finding their previous pace too much effort now and didn't seem to have the energy for it any more.<p>

Approaching the half way mark, she cleared her throat. "Sir, I've been thinking. Maybe we shouldn't keep doing this." The fact that she could speak so clearly proved her point, really; six months ago she would have been slightly breathless.

By contrast, Snape sounded a bit out of breath as he replied, "Oh? Why?"

"I think it's doing your health more harm than good now, sir, to be frank," she told him, meeting his eyes as he turned to look at her, both of them slowing to a halt.

"You think so, do you?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

She shrugged apologetically, no longer cowed by the first signs of temper. At this time of the morning she would have plenty of warning before he turned dangerous. "I have eyes, sir."

"I'm not in my grave yet, you know." He was trying to sound offended, but mostly he just sounded like he should be in bed.

"I know, but this isn't helping. I'm sorry if I'm speaking out of turn, sir, but physically you're not doing as well as you were earlier this year."

Snape continued to look at her for a long moment before to her surprise he almost smiled, an odd light entering his eyes. "Is that so?" he asked, sounding more like his usual self. Before she could reply, he continued, "In that case, Miss Granger... you should find it easy to beat me back to the castle." Without further ado, he took off, breaking into a flat out sprint, faster than she had ever seen him run.

Reacting automatically, Hermione ran after him, fighting a sudden urge to laugh at the sheer unexpectedness of this new development. She hadn't raced anyone since she was ten, at her primary school's Sports Day. That had been a form of torture by another name, frankly, and sadistic enough to rival anything Snape had ever come up with in class, but... well, running was _fun, _in the right circumstances. _Nobody is ever going to believe this, _she decided, grinning as the wind whipped her hair back from her face.

She lost, which wasn't too surprising given his unfair start, but it was close enough for her not to feel too disheartened. In any case, her point still stood, since although they were both seriously out of breath by the time they reached the school Snape sounded almost asthmatic and had started to cough. "You cheated," she told him breathlessly, leaning against the wall. "That doesn't count."

Sinking into a crouch and trying to stop coughing, he ignored her, sucking air through his open mouth as he panted harshly. When his breathing had begun to ease a bit, he straightened up and leaned against the wall beside her, closing his eyes. "Of course I cheated," he rasped, drawing his wand and using a non-verbal _Aguamenti _to direct cold water into his mouth before leaning forward to spit it out, evidently too hot to actually drink yet without being sick.

"You are all right, aren't you, sir? If you give yourself a heart attack trying to win a race against me, you're never going to live it down, you know." That would probably earn him the magical equivalent of a Darwin award, actually, if there was such a thing.

"Don't flatter yourself," he retorted, beginning to sound a little better. He was trembling, though, and had obviously overtaxed himself; he knew it, and she knew it, but she let it go, soaking the sleeve of her thin sweater with her own charm and using the damp cloth to wipe her face while he regained his breath. Once both of them had warmed down and had a drink, he looked and sounded better, but the lines of strain on his face were still all too noticeable, and both portraits and Madam Pomfrey had commented yesterday.

"Sir?" she began cautiously.

"Whatever you did last night, I don't want to know," he told her wearily, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall once more.

"That's not what I was going to say, sir." Phineas had told her to try and find out what this mysterious task was that he had to do, but she knew that wouldn't work. He wasn't going to tell her, and he would only grow more stubborn if she pushed, until he finally lost his temper. "I wanted to ask... I know you can't, or won't, tell me what's really going on, but is there anything I can do to help?"

When he didn't answer, she turned to look at him and found him staring at her with a faintly troubled expression. "You've changed your tune since your first year," he noted finally in a rather distant voice, before slowly shaking his head. "No, there isn't, although I... am grateful for the offer," he added a little stiffly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He snorted softly, relaxing and giving her an amused look. "You're not my therapist, Granger."

"Now there's an idea," she replied. "Maybe that's what I'll do when I finish school, become the wizarding world's first psychotherapist."

"God knows we need one," he agreed, his lips twitching. "Now, if you have quite finished doubting my physical and mental health, be off with you."

* * *

><p>Since Harry had found out the full memory from Slughorn and confirmed that he had told Voldemort about Horcruxes, Hermione had been doing a lot of thinking. Dumbledore said the only books about such things in Hogwarts were in his possession and perfectly safe, and it was true that she hadn't found anything in the Restricted Section, but she'd bet her wand that there was someone else in the castle who would know about them.<p>

She couldn't understand why Snape wasn't involved in any of this. He was their resident expert on the Dark Arts, and he probably knew more about Voldemort than anyone else on their side except for Dumbledore himself. The official reason was that there was too much risk of Voldemort finding out, she knew that, but when you looked at it that didn't make sense. Snape was too good at keeping secrets for that or he would have been caught long ago, and he had told her himself that if the Dark Lord managed to get through all his defences he would find more than enough to take down the entire Order, at which point it wouldn't matter if he then understood how vulnerable the Horcruxes made him because there would be nobody left who knew about them.

Snape himself seemed to believe that Dumbledore simply didn't trust him, which was looking increasingly likely, but that too didn't make much sense. He'd had more than enough opportunities to betray them all by now if that was what he wanted. Hermione had known him for six years, and only really known him properly for a little over one year; if she could see from that short acquaintance that he would do absolutely anything to see Voldemort dead, then surely Dumbledore – who had known him for far longer – could see it too.

It didn't make sense for Snape not to be involved. He knew so much; his help was likely to prove useful, and in any case... she felt he should know what he was fighting for. It was his life on the line, after all, and he should know why. Rather guardedly, she raised the subject with Harry and Ron. Harry agreed with her, but reminded her with a shrug that Dumbledore had sworn them all to secrecy. Ron was less sure, but he hadn't had much time to come to terms with the notion of Snape and Hermione being friends and the proof that their teacher really was on their side after all, let alone the truth of Hermione's feelings on the matter; he didn't want anything to do with it.

Part of her still thought like a good girl, and she did briefly consider approaching Dumbledore and asking him to tell Snape what was really going on, before reluctantly deciding against it. She wasn't close to Dumbledore the way Harry was and had only spoken to him privately on a handful of occasions; she certainly wasn't confident enough to argue with him, and it probably would be an argument. So that meant she had to find a way around the promise she had made.

Next morning she prudently asked Snape to stop about half way around their jogging circuit so they could talk without risk of being overheard; Hagrid wasn't up yet and nobody else was out here.

He wiped his face, apparently glad of the rest; he still wouldn't admit it, but their morning runs really seemed to be becoming more of an effort for him these days, as his strength continued to wane. "What's bothering you this time, Granger?" he asked, trying not to sound too breathless.

Heartened by the relatively informal address, she shrugged and half-smiled. "I had a question, sir, as surprising as that sounds." He arched an eyebrow and gave her a mocking sneer, but didn't say anything, and she continued a little apprehensively, "I was wondering about a form of Dark magic I heard of recently... what do you know about Horcruxes, sir?"

He hissed sharply, confirming that yes, he did know about them. "Where did you hear that term?"

Hermione gave him an innocent look. "Would you believe the Restricted Section?"

"No." He took a step closer, his black eyes hard. "Don't play games, Miss Granger. Where did you hear about such things?"

"I promised I wouldn't say anything about it to anyone, sir."

His expression hardened still further, and his voice turned dangerous. "Miss Granger..."

Taking a breath, Hermione held her hands up apologetically and repeated with careful emphasis, "I promised I wouldn't _say _anything."

Snape got the point instantly, his eyes widening slightly; not for the first time, she was very happy that he was this intelligent. Frowning a little, he cocked his head to one side and gave her a measuring look, his eyes narrowing as he thought about things. "I see," he said slowly. "Is this perhaps related to whatever the Headmaster has been doing with Potter?"

"I couldn't possibly say, sir." Trying not to smile, she added in a monotone, "No, please, I promised not to say anything. Please stop."

He rolled his eyes, his lips twitching. "Don't overdo it. Are you ready?" She nodded, meeting his eyes confidently, and he murmured quietly, "_Legilimens._"

Concentrating first on her fog, Hermione was pleased at how quickly the defences formed. Once she was settled, she thought back to the first memory, when Harry had talked about Dumbledore giving him extra lessons, and began carefully working her way through each of the occasions when he had described the memories the Headmaster had shown him. About the Gaunt family, and the orphanage, and Riddle, and the doctored memory from Slughorn, and later the real one they had learned about the other day, and finally about everything Dumbledore knew or hypothesised about the Horcruxes. She could feel Snape watching intently and curiously, and was pleased that he made no effort to go digging for the memories but allowed her to show them to him at her own pace.

When the connection broke at last, she blinked rapidly a few times and focused on his face once more; he was staring pensively into the distance, frowning and obviously deep in thought. Finally he sighed slowly and blinked, turning to look at her. "Well," he said reflectively, "that makes a great deal of sense."

"You don't even seem all that surprised, sir," she ventured.

"Oh, some things were certainly a surprise, but I had my suspicions about his past... you are of course familiar with the phrase 'it takes one to know one'? I was fairly sure that he didn't have a pleasant childhood, and there were times when he seemed strangely unfamiliar with certain pureblood customs that I didn't understand either – I had wondered about his blood status before Potter witnessed his resurrection with his father's bone, although naturally I never dared say anything or try to find out on my own." He grimaced faintly. "I quite liked the notion that he was perhaps a half-blood like me. I wasn't particularly smart as a teenager, obviously."

Shrugging, he continued, "Naturally, I have known since your second year that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir, too. As for the Horcruxes, well, that business with the diary had me wondering if that was how he had extended his life so unnaturally. I didn't know you could make more than one, though, so when he returned I assumed I had been mistaken. I wonder how Slughorn knew of such things," he mused thoughtfully, before looking back at her. "Why did you allow me to see that, when you had promised to keep it secret?"

"I did no such thing, and you are a terrible man for forcing it out of me," she replied briskly, smiling a little.

Snape rolled his eyes again. "Of course." He thought for a few minutes before giving her a hard look. "I want in on this. I'll be speaking to the Headmaster today; he will no doubt be outraged that I would forcibly use Legilimency against a student," he added extremely dryly, "but somehow I'll work through the pain. He will do his best to keep me out of it, which is where you come in. Potter is going to be involved when they track down another Horcrux, yes?"

"That's what Professor Dumbledore said, yes."

"When that happens, you and Weasley insist on going with him. Get one of the portraits to tell me, if I'm in the castle at the time. I want to see this happening, if I can – I want to watch the plan working while I have the chance."

Since that was one of the reasons why she had let him find out anyway, Hermione nodded happily to this. "I suppose you're not going to repay me by finally sharing your knowledge of what _your _mysterious plot with the Headmaster is, sir?" she asked hopefully. It wouldn't work, of course, but there were still a few approaches she hadn't tried.

He gave her a dark look. "No."

"Typical. We already know some of it," she added ingenuously.

"Do you?"

"Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater." All right, they didn't know that for certain, but there was a lot of circumstantial evidence to suggest it...

"Is he?"

"And you've made some sort of vow..."

"Have I?"

Staring at his utterly blank and inscrutable expression, she gave in. "Oh, fine, sir. Be that way."

His quick smile made his dark eyes glitter. "I intend to. Come on, we're running late now. Try and stay out of the Headmaster's way for a day or two; he's not going to be happy."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until after dinner that Severus really had a chance to sit and think about what he had learned. He would need to go and speak to Dumbledore tonight – that was going to be so much fun; the old man was going to be <em>pissed <em>– but first he wanted to get his thoughts in order. It was a hell of a lot of information to take in, after all; none of the Death Eaters had ever known anything about their master, not really, although as he had said to Hermione he had had his suspicions and possibly so had a couple of the others.

Horcruxes, hmm? It made sense, now he considered it. He had wondered. It wasn't a subject he knew much about. He did have books that dealt with such things, but not here – he knew better than to have anything that dark in school, especially given that his two immediate predecessors in this job had searched his rooms more than once. That was a problem; he wasn't going to have time to nip home for some research, so he was going to have to rely on what he could remember and what he could reason out. Hell would freeze over before Dumbledore gave him any more information, after all, and Slughorn would be very definitely on his guard now.

_I wish I'd seen Potter getting him drunk, _he thought whimsically, smirking to himself. The boy was learning. That had been almost Slytherin – although it didn't take a genius to realise that Slughorn liked his booze. Emotional blackmail was a cruel thing to do to a drunk, but he wasn't inclined to be very sympathetic to anyone who had somehow failed to realise that Tom Riddle was mentally disturbed.

Severus had written down everything Hermione had showed him, and now he sat back and read over his notes pensively; he'd been thinking about his master's life since this morning, and truthfully it disturbed him to realise the similarities. No stable family environment, no social ties, poverty and neglect, a talent for the Dark Arts and a lot of seething resentment... and a tendency towards melodramatic nicknames. That perhaps explained why the great Lord Voldemort had been prepared to give him a chance all those years ago. It also meant there might be a slight advantage, since he could understand how his master thought, at least in some ways.

He had to admit Potter shared some of the same traits; he'd already noted the similarities between himself and the boy. Adding Voldemort to the picture... idly he scrawled a triangle on the edge of his notes. It was quite interesting, actually, that the three of them should be in this situation. He stood between the other two, the edge of the coin holding the two faces together. Perhaps that was why Dumbledore had been struck down, to get him out of the way because he wasn't one of them?

_Dear God. I sound like Trelawney. _Stifling a laugh, he stretched and leaned back in his chair, resting his boots on the edge of his desk and crossing his ankles casually, half closing his eyes as he re-read his notes. At least there was some comfort in knowing that he wasn't a total psychopath. Severus was well aware he did have some bullying tendencies, and if he'd been part of a gang instead of the gang's victim at school that would have been made so very much worse, but he did have limits. There were a lot of similarities between himself and Tom Riddle, but there were also a lot of differences, which was reassuring.

He was absorbed in fitting this new knowledge into his mental picture of the war's progression and its causes, filling in some of the holes, when Dilys nearly gave him heart failure by greeting him loudly and cheerfully from the wall of his office. "So, Severus, I hear you've been extorting information from schoolgirls?"

"Bloody hell, woman, don't do that," he replied weakly, amused at having been caught off guard – he was usually paying more attention. "You know how high my blood pressure is right now. And you know I did no such thing – it was all her idea. I know you know that, because she told you. Nobody else knows yet."

"Well, she's always been a bright girl," she pointed out, and he nodded agreement. "When are you going to approach Albus?"

"Tonight. Preferably just before he goes to bed. It's about time he lost some sleep because of me for a change, instead of the other way around."

"He's going to be furious, you know."

He smirked at the portrait. "That's the icing on the cake. There is absolutely nothing he can do to me because of this. He needs me too much."

"Don't underestimate him, Severus."

"I don't intend to. Perhaps I should have said there is nothing permanent he can do to me. I'm sure he'll find a way to make me pay, but it's not going to matter in the long run." He settled back in his chair again, returning his gaze to his notes. "It serves him right for leaving me out in the first place."

Dilys burst out laughing. "_You _are criticising someone for being close-mouthed and secretive?"

"Oh, shut up," he replied, amused despite himself – Dilys had always been the only one who could get away with mocking him, if only because there was absolutely no way he could stop her so he'd had to learn to tolerate it. "I don't do it just because I can."

"No, you do it because you're a stubborn pessimist." She shook her head, her smile fading a little. "Severus..."

"God, not again," he groaned. "How many times do I have to say _no _to you and Phineas before you understand that I mean it? He's been hounding me for weeks."

"I know you mean it, but I think you're wrong," she told him matter-of-factly. "You should tell her, Severus, for several reasons."

"You're going to list those reasons no matter what I say or do, aren't you."

"Yes, so be quiet and listen. Reason one is that it's killing you to try and deal with the stress by yourself. You're scared, Severus, even though you try to pretend otherwise. I don't blame you. You're in a bad situation, but having someone else who knows what's going on really will help even if only by making you feel better."

"I'm not that selfish."

"What?"

"Yes, it will make me feel better – do you really imagine I haven't realised that? But it will make her feel worse. She's scared enough as it is, Dilys. I won't be responsible for her losing what faith she has left. Let her keep trusting that our leader knows what he's doing."

"She _doesn't _trust him any more, Severus. Because reason two is that she knows he's making you do something that is destroying you, and she is desperately worried about you. You know her; if she knows what she's facing, she'll be less afraid, not more."

"That's true," he conceded somewhat reluctantly, shrugging. "But she still has faith that Dumbledore knows what he's doing and that I can cope, foolish girl. I won't take that away from her until I absolutely have to. If I really thought she could help, or that things would be better if I told her, I would, but as it is..."

"Fine. Reason three is that it's not fair to her. Think about it, Severus. If she doesn't find out what's going on until the moment someone tells her you've murdered Albus, what's that going to do to her? And to you? You can't let her find out like that. Tell her what to expect and give her a warning. Reason four is that you're going to need to help the three of them once Albus is gone, and you're not going to be able to do that if they think you've betrayed them all. Do you think she'll work it out on her own, when she's scared and feels betrayed and is on the run with her friends? She's smart, but she's young, and her world is going to end if you don't prepare her."

"Her world is going to end?" he repeated. "Hardly."

Dilys stared at him and slowly shook her head. "Severus Snape, you never cease to amaze me. You are without a doubt the most intelligent man I have ever known, and yet you are at the same time incredibly stupid. I can't quite believe I have to spell this out to you, but fine. Reason five for why you should tell Hermione what is going on is because she's crazy about you, you bloody fool."

Severus froze for what he knew was far too long, but for a moment he literally couldn't breathe. Finally shaking it off, he gave the portrait a venomous look. "That's not funny."

"No, it isn't," she agreed swiftly, glaring back at him with a kind of fond exasperation. "But it _is _true, and she's been tearing herself apart over it for quite a long time. As have you," she added pointedly. "I might be old and I might be dead but I'm not blind or stupid. I know you like her and I know you're pretending that you don't; you might be able to fool everyone else, but not me. She likes you, Severus," she continued more gently. "I know you've never been in a relationship, so I suppose I can't expect you to spot when a girl is interested in you, but..."

"That was uncalled-for," he growled reflexively, trying to get the rest of his brain to unfreeze and give him a clue how he was supposed to be feeling. "I may not have –"

"Shut up, idiot, you know what I meant. I said relationship, not sex. Did you truly never even suspect? She's been worrying herself sick in case she gave herself away to you. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised... she's as pessimistic as you are."

"I refuse to have this conversation."

"Severus Snape, stop where you are right now or I swear we will be having this conversation very loudly in a public corridor the first time I catch you above ground."

Reining in his temper, he stopped obediently half way to the door and turned reluctantly. "Dilys, please. I don't want to talk about this."

"Tough luck. I'm fed up with the pair of you to be honest and if I could I'd lock you both in somewhere and let Nature take its course. Now, no more evasions. You like her, don't you?"

Severus hesitated. He hated feeling off balance like this and he really didn't want to talk about his feelings... but at the same time he knew damned well that Dilys wasn't going to give up until he did, and if there was even a slim chance that Hermione did like him he wanted to find out more. Surrendering reluctantly, he looked away and muttered, "Yes."

"Well, that's progress. And I assume you've been telling yourself that there is no way she would ever like you back, because you're older, and her teacher, and a charmless antisocial unattractive streak of misery?"

"Thanks for that."

"Severus, think for a moment. Hermione's a smart girl, one of the smartest – in fact, given her youth, probably _the _smartest I've met. Do you really think she doesn't know what you're like by now? I'm telling you, she doesn't care. She's young enough to be unsure of herself, or I think she might well have made a move already."

He bit his lip and promptly hated himself for it, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Does Phineas share this theory of yours?"

"He sees the truth, yes," she retorted. "It's not a theory, and you're a fool."

"Just tell me nobody else knows."

"I really couldn't say," she responded airily. "Of the people you're worried about, though... you can relax. I strongly suspect that Poppy worked it out months ago, but she certainly hasn't said anything to me or to Hermione and I very much doubt she ever will." Dilys sighed, watching him narrowly. "I'm not expecting you to believe me right away. I'm not daft and I've known you too long. Just pay attention, Severus. She really does like you, you know. Now, will you tell her what's coming?"

Firmly squashing the tiny flicker of nervous hope, Severus tried to think, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll consider it," he said finally, more to shut her up than because he actually intended to. "But I won't be pushed into anything, so back off and let me think about it in my own way, please."

"I suppose that's the best I'm going to get. Fine, I'll let it go. But there is one more thing I want to say, Severus, and it's important."

He sighed. "Go on, then."

"If you wreck this, I will see you destroyed."

"What?"

"I've known you since you were a little boy, Severus, and I know you've got that terrible self-destructive streak. I know what you're like. I'm warning you, if you lash out at her now, if you try and push her away or crush her feelings or do anything else stupid and spiteful, I'll find a way to make you pay for it for the rest of your probably short and painful life. No, shut up and listen, you know I'm right. We both know your first impulse will be to try and drive her away from you. It won't work, but it will hurt her, and I won't forgive you for it and nor will anyone else. Keep your temper and act like a grownup, and you just might have a chance at the happiness you deserve. Screw it up, and you'll die alone and hated just like you've always feared."

Without giving him a chance to respond, not that he would have known what to say, she walked out of the frame and vanished. Severus stared at the empty picture for a minute, then turned and stared around his deserted office before finally asking in a somewhat bewildered voice, "What the hell just happened?"

* * *

><p>It took him twenty minutes of meditation to shut his brain down after that, but he persevered. He'd need time to acclimatise before he could hope to think rationally about what Dilys had said; in the meantime, he needed to confront Dumbledore. Pushing his tangled emotions down deep below the surface, he strolled through the darkened corridors to the Headmaster's office, looking forward to what was about to happen. Time to shake up the old man's perfect world a bit.<p>

"Good evening, Severus," his employer greeted him, as though they hadn't fought the last time they had spoken. "It's unusual to see you here without being ordered. Is something wrong?"

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, aware of the faint rustle as the portraits came to attention; the audience was going to enjoy this. Holding back a smile, he regarded Dumbledore for a moment, drawing out the anticipation, before crossing to the chair opposite him and sitting down, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. "So... Horcruxes? That's very interesting."

Oh, how he wished he had a camera. This memory was definitely going to be one to put in the Pensieve and gleefully relive over and over again. It was the purest double-take he had ever seen, complete with bulging eyes and a dropped jaw. Dumbledore spluttered wordlessly for a moment, turning pale, before finally scrambling to recover himself. "How... Who told you?"

Trying not to burst out laughing, Severus gave him a bland and insincere half-smile. "I'm a spy, Dumbledore, if you recall. I have ways of finding out information that is concealed from me." It was tempting to leave the old man worrying about information leaks, but the Order were far too overcautious as it was; he added nonchalantly, "And teenagers can't hide the fact that they're hiding things."

The Headmaster's expression darkened, anger beginning to overtake shock. "What have you done, Severus?"

"What I had to. You shouldn't have kept me out of this, and you know it. I have a right to know what I'm giving my life for."

"If you're telling me you used Legilimency against a child..."

"Did I say that? I don't believe I did." _She's not a child, and it was her idea. _Firmly he dragged his thoughts away from dangerous territory. "You should have told us, Dumbledore. Not just me, but the whole Order. I'm not talking about our little arrangement, I know you don't intend telling anyone else – that's stupid, but we'll overlook it. I'm talking about this. The Horcruxes, and the information on Riddle. Minerva at least should know. She's actually rather hurt that you won't trust her with anything any more. Keep it up, and she'll start losing faith in you as well. You have to give a little sometimes."

Much as he had expected, the old man ignored this, standing up and moving around the desk to look down at him. "It's too dangerous for you to know about this."

"No, it's not," he replied in his most insultingly bored-sounding drawl, even going so far as to study his fingernails. "You know that's nonsense, Dumbledore. For years I've known enough to doom you all if he ever finds out. Adding a few more secrets will make no difference whatsoever. He won't find out anything I don't want him to know. It's in my best interests to die before letting him see it, because if he does learn any of my secrets my death will last for weeks. You will at least believe a selfish motive, regardless of any other arguments."

While he was talking, Severus had been watching the old man closely, ignoring the black and withered hand to focus on the healthy one; he'd seen the slow movement and wasn't remotely surprised to find a wand tip suddenly aimed between his eyes. "_Obliviate!_"

Severus yawned theatrically and settled more comfortably in his chair. "Nice try, but I'm not a frightened and traumatised sixteen year old boy any more. You cannot modify the memory of an Occlumens as strong as I am; half the reason I learned Occlumency in the first place was because you threatened to do it to me." He looked up, dropping the sneering smile and the bored tone, and added coldly, "If you ever draw a wand on me again, you'd better be prepared to use the Killing Curse, because if you use anything else I'm going to take it off you and make you eat it."

"Don't threaten me."

"Then don't threaten me." Standing, he stared Dumbledore straight in the eyes. "I'm not your dog, Headmaster, nor am I stupid. I have a brain and the ability to use it, unlike a worryingly high number of people. You know my reasons for being on your side –" _Most of them, at least... _"– and none of them involve you. I'll follow your plan, because I don't have a choice and because I don't have a better plan and because I want Potter to win. I'll die for him, if I really have to, but I won't die for you."

The two of them looked at one another silently for a while before the Headmaster sighed and looked away. "There is no need for this, Severus. I am trying to keep everyone as safe as possible, and sometimes that means I cannot trust everyone with all the information at my disposal. It isn't personal."

_Liar. _"I don't care, Dumbledore. Your motives really don't interest me any more. I wasn't even in my teens when I gave up on ever winning your trust, but right now you have no choice but to trust me, and I won't be kept in the dark any more. I have the right to know what I'm dying for. If you haven't realised by now that I won't betray the Order, then you're an idiot, but I don't care about that either. From now on, I'm going to be involved in your plan, until the end. Humour me for a couple of months. You owe me that much at least."

There was another long silence before Dumbledore looked back at him with his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. "Very well, Severus, but I won't forget this."

"And nor will I." He gave his employer a sarcastic smile and turned away without another word, letting himself out.

* * *

><p>Once outside, Severus made his way through the corridors, heading for the front door; he wanted a cigarette. A smirk tugged at his lips as he sauntered along; right now he felt good. He couldn't remember the last time he had got one over on Dumbledore; he'd spent years coming off worse in every argument, and it felt really good to win a few points at last. He started humming Elton John's 'I'm Still Standing' under his breath, making plans for the evening; it was late enough now that he knew he wouldn't be Summoned. A cigarette, and then an early night seemed to be in order; he'd give himself a night off, curl up with a mug of hot chocolate and a good book and relax and avoid thinking about anything. He suspected a certain Gryffindor was going to haunt his dreams again, too, but perhaps he didn't need to repress them so forcefully this time.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Dumbledore is <em>not _going to be pleased. Shame. Also a couple of people have apparently been having problems with chapter alerts recently..._


	27. Chapter 27

__And the 2000th review was caught by **KellyJoy**! Congratulations to her. And congratulations to **Caraline Fisher, **who is expecting a baby boy in April.__

_Now, this chapter is going to be somewhat... explosive..._

* * *

><p><strong>"Can't break the silence,<br>It's breaking me,  
>All my fears turn to rage...<br>And I'm alone now,  
>Me and all I stood for<br>We're wandering now..."**  
>– Evanescence, 'Your Star'.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus' good mood had lasted most of the night; he'd slept deeply and dreamlessly for quite a long time, at least by his standards, and had woken up still feeling pretty pleased with the world. That had lasted until he realised he would be seeing Hermione again this morning, at which point he was disgusted to find that he had begun to worry. That was stupid, they'd been doing this routine for about a year and a half now. It didn't mean it wasn't true, though.<p>

He wished Dilys hadn't said anything. He'd been happier not knowing, frankly, because now he was going to drive himself mad for weeks forensically analysing everything she said or did, trying to discover the truth of the matter. Dilys had almost certainly been telling the truth – had it been peacetime he wouldn't have put it past her to make it up for her own amusement, but with things so serious he was pretty sure she wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't true – but he would need to see some clear evidence himself before he would allow himself to truly believe it.

And if it was true, what then? He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck; he hated to admit it even to himself, but he didn't know how to do this. It had been easier when he was younger; by the time he had realised how he felt about Lily, he had been old enough to realise that she didn't feel the same, so he hadn't needed to do anything except keep his mouth shut. He could talk to women easily enough, that wasn't a problem, but he'd never tried to flirt with anyone who actually knew him and he'd never tried to flirt with anyone who was sober. It was also worth reminding himself that relationships between staff and students, consensual or otherwise, were forbidden – but so what? It wasn't as if Dumbledore would dare fire him. He'd never given a damn for social rules either. The real obstacle now was the fact that he had no idea what he was doing and was terrified of screwing up.

_This is absolutely pathetic, _he told himself ruefully. Most men felt like this when they were around fifteen, and generally by the time they were out of their teens they more or less knew what they were doing. Feeling like this at thirty seven was just _sad. _Apart from anything else, _if _Dilys was right then he had somehow – God alone knew how – managed to attract Hermione's interest without doing anything, so logically all he had to do was continue acting normally. That didn't seem terribly likely, since his normal attitude was either mocking sarcasm or bitter anger and as far as he knew she wasn't a masochist, but who was he to judge? He'd managed to fall for her despite everything, so there was no real reason why it shouldn't happen the other way around, right? Apart from the minor problems of his appearance and personality, anyway.

Severus almost laughed; his life really could not get any more insane. If he had a plan at all, it was to try to act like his usual self and keep his eyes open for any signs he might have missed up until now – he'd spent years watching everyone around him, he could usually spot when a woman was interested in a man long before anyone else noticed. _If_ he did find evidence that she was interested in him, well, he'd have to worry about it then – in between everything else he had to worry about, of course. At least it wouldn't be difficult to keep it hidden, since apparently the only person who might know was Poppy. If the nurse hadn't said anything by now, Dilys was right, she never would; the mediwitch was no fool and wouldn't have hesitated if she had a problem.

He was thankful that Hermione knew he was practically a zombie in the mornings; he didn't have to speak to her or even look directly at her. That made it difficult to come to any conclusions about her feelings, of course, but it drastically reduced the chances of his embarrassing himself. He kept catching himself staring from the corner of his eye, but she didn't seem to have noticed, and by the time they were half way around the circuit he was too busy trying to breathe to worry about it too much – damnit, she was right, he wasn't fit enough for this any more.

Besides, he concluded somewhat unhappily as he tried to ease a stitch between strides, it probably wasn't a good idea to keep this up. It had been bothering him for months anyway... well, come on, by the time they finished their run she was slightly flushed and dishevelled and a little breathless, of course his thoughts were going to wander into inappropriate territory. And now... it was probably a bad idea to spend too much time alone with her. Better to avoid temptation until he'd sorted things out in his head and until he was more certain of what was going to happen at the end of the year. In any case, it was bloody embarrassing to find himself struggling to keep pace with her now.

That said, he had no intention of severing all contact with her outside Defence lessons. Dilys had been dead right about his destructive streak, but things had gone too far for that – he'd tried at Christmas and had only succeeded in making himself miserable. He was in too deep to break it off now, but he could avoid the worst awkwardness without really altering the time he could spend with her, surely.

By the time they reached the castle again, he was seriously out of breath and somewhat pissed off about it. He'd worked hard to maintain what physical fitness he could, and for the past couple of months he had been making a serious effort to look after himself properly; it was rather disheartening to find that it hadn't had much of an effect. Slumping against the wall by the door, he wiped his face wearily and sighed. "All right, Granger, you win."

"Sir?" she asked.

He shook his head. "You're right, this isn't doing me any good any more, much as it pains me to admit it. I think we should call it a day." Glancing up through the lank curtains of his hair, he studied her expression closely, spotting the clear flickers of disappointment and faint hurt as she bit her lip. Best to head off that misunderstanding quickly, before Dilys heard about it and arranged his ritual castration or something. Trying to force some humour into his rough early-morning voice, he added dryly, "I do have some pride, you know. Besides, we're at the end of the Easter holidays and I'm sure you'll want the extra time for totally unnecessary revision that you don't need to do."

All right, it wasn't much of a compliment, but it seemed to be enough to earn him at least a small smile. "I'm not _that _bad, you know."

"Your colour-coded revision timetables are the stuff of Hogwarts legend."

"Funny, sir." She sighed. "It's going to feel strange, not doing this every morning. I'm going to miss it."

That was annoyingly ambiguous. She could be referring to the exercise, or to the company. He could feel a headache forming and he was gloomily certain it was going to be the first of many where this young woman was concerned. "Yes," he agreed cautiously. "Still, there are some compensations. If I have mornings free to work, I may have more time in the evenings to oversee your training. And we still have to sort out time for you to practice the Wolfsbane."

As far as he could tell, she looked pleased, but this was Hermione Granger, the only student in the school who would be pleased at the notion of more lessons. Damnit, this was just confusing.

"Well, that's something, at least," she told him, sounding a bit brighter. "Did you speak to the Headmaster yesterday?"

He grinned, basking in the memory. "Oh, yes. He was... amusingly furious, and very shocked. Incidentally, he was left with the impression that I extorted the information from Mr Potter, rather than from you, so perhaps you and your friends should continue to reinforce that." Because if Dumbledore ever found out that he had any contact with Hermione beyond the Healing stuff... best not to think about it.

"Are you going to be in trouble for that, sir?"

She sounded genuinely worried, which pleased him. "What, for upsetting his precious Potter? Miss Granger, if I got in trouble with the Headmaster every time that happened, my teaching career would have been even less productive than it actually is."

She stifled a laugh, her eyes dancing for a moment. "I was being serious."

"I know. It'll be fine. The worst he can do is scold me, and after all these years I think I'm immune. Now be off with you."

* * *

><p>It turned out that the worst the Headmaster could do was considerably more serious than a scolding. Snape had been busy that evening, and Hermione had been half-heartedly sparring with the boys when Dobby had shown up in the Room of Requirement asking Harry to go and see Dumbledore. Impulsively, she and Ron tagged along, wondering what he wanted to show them tonight.<p>

The Headmaster didn't seem surprised to see them, smiling genially and conjuring two more chairs by his desk. "Good evening, all of you. Not training with Professor Snape tonight, I see?"

"No, sir," Harry replied easily; he was obviously at home here, comfortable with talking to Dumbledore, Hermione noted as she exchanged a glance with Ron. Hardly surprising given how often they sat and talked, but she would bet everything she owned that no other student in the school had this kind of relationship with the Headmaster. Harry had never wanted to be special or to be treated differently, but obviously this didn't count. Harry continued, "He said he was busy. We practice by ourselves a lot. What are we doing tonight? Have you found...?"

Dumbledore lifted his non-injured hand to cut him off, smiling. "No, no, not that, although I am certainly close to discovering one of the locations. No, actually tonight I wanted to talk to you about Professor Snape."

Hermione sat up straighter in her chair, a chill rippling down her spine as she scanned the paintings on the wall out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't see either Dilys or Phineas from where she sat; she hoped like hell at least one of them was in one of the frames behind her. This didn't sound good.

"Professor Snape? Why?" Harry asked blankly.

"I have noticed recently that the two of you seem to have finally set aside your differences at last. That is certainly wonderful to see, of course, but I can't help wondering why..." He left it hanging, and Harry grinned sheepishly.

"Um, well, it's quite difficult to explain, sir. I mean, he clearly doesn't like me, that hasn't changed, and I – don't really like him either, if I'm honest, but... well, we've spoken a few times in training sessions, and he's actually given me some good advice. I'm still not completely sure what's going on, but I know you trust him, and he does seem to be trying to help. Sometimes, at least."

"Ah... so he hasn't told you anything specific?"

_Uh oh. This is bad. _Hermione prayed that one of the friendly portraits could hear this; she couldn't think of a way to stop this conversation, or to somehow at least manage to give Snape a warning.

"About what, sir?"

"His motivation for doing what he does, perhaps? I wasn't sure if he would or not. It does partly concern you, after all."

"It does?" Harry asked, sounding bewildered. "Why? I mean – it's not about my dad, is it? I thought his debt was..."

"No, no, nothing like that. You see, Harry, when Professor Snape was a boy, there was another magical child living nearby, born of Muggle parents. They became friends before coming to Hogwarts, and remained very close for some years. So close, in fact, that even after their friendship ended, Professor Snape continued to keep track of her, and when he discovered that she and her family were in danger, he tried to protect her. His final attempt was to come to me; he changed sides for her safety."

_Oh, fuck. _Hermione cleared her throat uncertainly. "Sir, this sounds... a bit personal..." she said quietly, ignoring the part of her that wanted to start screaming _don't you bloody dare_.

"Yes, Miss Granger, but I think it is necessary," he replied, cutting her off.

Before she could say anything else, Harry asked, "What does this have to do with me, sir?"

Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "Her name was Lily Evans."

There was a long, frozen moment of silence, filled with tension so thick that it was hard to breathe. "...My mum?" Harry whispered in disbelief after a moment, and the Headmaster nodded, his eyes compassionate and sympathetic – Hermione found that she didn't believe the expression in those blue eyes any more. She felt sick and a little light headed; she couldn't have interfered if she had wanted to, because her mouth was dry and her feet felt rooted to the floor. _You... utter bastard. I don't believe you actually just did that._

"I realise this is something of a shock for you, Harry, but I thought you should know why it is that Professor Snape is willing to risk so much for our side and why he dislikes you at the same time."

* * *

><p>The next few minutes were somewhat blurred; Hermione elected to totally ignore the yelling in favour of stopping Harry from killing himself. It wasn't the first time she had gone down to the dungeons in a hurry, but she'd never done so while hanging on her friend's arm and trying desperately to calm him down, and it had taken everything she and Ron could do to drag him into one of the empty rooms and block the door.<p>

"Harry, _please, _stop a moment so we can talk about this," she asked him breathlessly, gripping her wand; she'd hex him if she had to.

"No. I need to see him. To find out what... I need to see him."

"Why? It was a long time ago, Harry. Does it matter?"

"_Does it _– of _course _it matters, Hermione! How can you – how can you even ask that? Of course it matters! Why aren't you... I don't know, angry, or hurt, or – _something?_ I mean..."

"I know exactly what you mean and if you say one more word about it I'll glue your jaws together," she replied grimly. "You never know who's listening in this place."

He shook his head impatiently as though dislodging a fly. "Whatever. Let me out."

"No way, mate," Ron told him, shaking his head. "Not until you've calmed down. I don't blame you for freaking out but you know Snape will kill you if you charge in on him in this mood. When you can talk without yelling, then we might let you out."

"Yeah? What if it was _your _mum? You'd be yelling!"

Ron stared at him for a moment. "Harry, if it was my mum, I'd be puking. Didn't need that image. Cheers. And yeah, you're right, if it was me I'd be yelling, and you'd be trying to calm me down. C'mon, mate, you're turning purple..."

"Shut up! Just... shut up, okay?"

Hermione's lower lip was bleeding, she noted distantly, feeling sick. This was a nightmare. The only way it could get any worse was if...

"What on earth is going on?" a familiar voice demanded from behind her, and she wanted to slam her head against the wall. Of course. _Fuck. _Slowly, she turned around.

Snape stood in the doorway, staring at the three of them quizzically; he looked faintly annoyed, but not much, and his dark eyes were a little sleepy. By the look of things, they had woken him up; there was a faint red crease on his cheek that made her suspect he had fallen asleep at his desk again, he wasn't wearing his robe and his frock coat was unbuttoned.

"_Silencio,_" she said hastily, cutting Harry off before he had time to do more than take a deep breath. "Sorry, Professor, we were just leaving..." _Don't babble, don't make him suspicious, just get Harry out and then find one of the portraits..._

His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene; Harry looked furious, struggling against the Silencing charm. Ron had gone pale and looked like he would run if the only exit wasn't blocked. Hermione was doing her best to keep her expression neutral and was concentrating on fog with everything she had, but she knew she couldn't hope to fool him for long. _Let it go, please, let it go..._

"What is going on?" he repeated slowly.

_Damn. _Hermione bit her already sore and bloody lip and sighed. "Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk to us, sir," she said reluctantly. "He... he told Harry... well..." She floundered, trying to think of how to say it, as a look of suspicion entered the black depths of his eyes and his frown deepened.

A moment later magic flared as Harry broke the charm and yelled, "He told me about you and my mother!"

She couldn't take her eyes from Snape's face. He looked frozen, not even breathing, not a single muscle moving anywhere, but the colour drained from his cheeks as she watched and the expression in his eyes wasn't one she had ever seen before as he grew dangerously pale. Finally he said slowly in a voice that really didn't sound right, "He did what?" Hermione searched his face worriedly but his eyes were blank and unreadable.

"It's true?" Harry demanded shakily, staring at him incredulously. "You... and my mum?"

Snape actually laughed; Hermione thought it was one of the most horrifying sounds she had ever heard. "No, of course not. I never meant that much to her," he said hoarsely. "But I would have died for her. I damned near did." He drew a ragged, shaky breath, struggling to maintain some semblance of control over himself as his hands started to tremble. "Sometimes I wish I had," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Harry stared around the room, looking rather lost, some of the anger fading into confusion. Ron caught his eyes and shrugged uneasily. "Don't look at me, mate. I dunno what to say. I'm as shocked as you are."

Harry continued staring around, before looking at Hermione, and she hesitated as the tension in the room increased, trying to decide what was the right thing to do. Finally she took a deep breath and said quietly, with a calmness she didn't feel, "I already knew."

That drew shocked exclamations from both her friends, but she was looking at Snape now, as he choked before giving her a look of pure unadulterated horror. "...What?" he whispered thickly, visibly trembling; he was chalk-white now, and his eyes were wider than before as his shields started to slip.

"I already knew," she repeated softly, trying to tell him with her eyes that it didn't matter, his pain making her chest ache and her eyes sting. "I've known for a while."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry yelled; the moment of shock hadn't lasted long, and now his temper had risen again.

Hermione turned away from Snape and looked at her best friend, trying to keep her voice gentle. "Because it's none of our business, Harry; mine _or_ yours. It was a long time ago. I trusted him before I knew, and you never will completely, so what difference does it make now? We didn't need to know."

"Well, I did!"

"Why, Harry?" she asked, trying to stop her voice shaking; she couldn't look at Snape again because she was certain she would start crying. "What's different now that you know? He was your mother's friend before she even started going out with your father, long before you were born. It's nothing to do with you, or me, or Ron, or anyone else in the Order."

"That's... I..." Harry was floundering now, the intelligent part of him warring with the impulsive tempestuous side as he realised that he actually didn't have a reason to be this angry. "He..."

"Easy, Harry," Ron said quietly, going to stand beside his friend. "Calm down a bit, okay? Breathe."

"Why are you so calm? Don't you think it's – it's –"

"Weird?" Ron suggested, trying to force a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "A bit, maybe. But it's definitely nothing to do with me, is it? I mean, I can sort of understand why you'd want to know, and Hermione..." He trailed off when she shook her head frantically, and floundered for a moment before shrugging. "Well, I guess she already knew, so it doesn't really matter. But it's got nothing to do with me. I never really trusted Professor Snape either, but I kind of figured that the higher ups knew what they were on about." He shrugged again, uneasily. "I dunno, mate... does it matter? He's trying to keep you safe because of your mum. There's worse reasons, right?"

"But..." he started weakly, the anger fading to confusion. He turned to stare at Snape again; uncertainly, Hermione followed his gaze and found Snape staring back at her – or, rather, through her. His eyes were unfocused and whatever he was seeing was clearly painful to look at; he was still dangerously pale and looked almost on the verge of fainting.

A moment later someone cleared their throat behind him, and a bad situation became ten times worse as Dumbledore appeared. "Is everything all right?" he asked, and Hermione's nails bit into her hands as she found herself fighting the twin urges to either hit him or curse him, glaring venomously at the old man.

Very slowly, Snape turned, moving stiffly; his blank expression didn't alter, but they could all see the devastating storm in his eyes now as his shields disintegrated further. "...You bastard, Dumbledore," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with an old, old pain. "You utter _bastard. _All I ever asked of you was that you never tell anyone. It's the only thing I have ever asked you for in all these years, and you couldn't even give me that much..."

"Severus..." the Headmaster began gently.

"Go to Hell."

"Severus..."

"I said, get out." A flush finally restored some colour to his pale face as his eyes began to glitter strangely; he stared at his employer, unblinking, before turning to stare at the others without seeming to truly see them. "All of you, _get out. Now._" He was shaking now; the tremors looked horribly familiar to Hermione, but there was nothing she could do. He didn't want company, obviously, and right now it would do more damage to have someone hovering around, even her – possibly especially her. Something tingled across her skin, a semi-familiar coolness, and she realised he was on the edge of completely losing control.

"Come on," she said quietly, tugging Harry's arm. They didn't need telling twice, and it seemed Dumbledore knew the danger signs as well as he preceded them out of the room. Snape followed them out and turned away towards his quarters, still moving with that odd rigidity and stiffness despite his trembling, and darkness swallowed him almost immediately.

"That went well," Hermione observed coldly, sick with anger and fear. At least Dumbledore had the decency not to meet her eyes, as he murmured something about it being for the best before excusing himself. Harry seemed to have gone numb; she got him to Gryffindor Tower safely before turning him over to Ron and retreating to her warded bed and a chance to cry privately.

* * *

><p>Hermione was in her dormitory later that night, curled up in bed and not even trying to go to sleep, when Phineas' voice demanded from the frame above her bed, "What happened earlier?"<p>

"Is he all right?" she asked hoarsely; her head ached from crying and from worrying.

"No, he's definitely not all right," Dilys said quietly, joining the Slytherin in the frame. "He's spent the last several hours smashing things and screaming himself hoarse, as far as we can tell, but the picture frames were the first things he took out. I believe he was crying, too, which I haven't seen in more years than I can remember. And now it has gone worryingly quiet down there, but we can't get in to see him. What happened?"

"Oh, God, it was awful," Hermione whispered, sitting up and hugging her knees. "The Headmaster... he called Harry to his office tonight, and Ron and I went along, and he – he told Harry about Lily."

"He did _what?_"

She shook her head helplessly. "It was terrible. Harry went charging down to the dungeons – we couldn't stop him. Professor Snape heard us arguing and came out, and Harry yelled it at him, and... the look on his face..." Tears stung her eyes again.

"Shit," Dilys said flatly, exchanging a troubled glance with Phineas, before both portraits looked at her and she said more sharply, "You knew?"

Hermione nodded shakily. "I suspected last year, and I finally worked it out a while ago. I've known for ages."

"And?"

She shrugged and tried to smile. "His feelings don't change mine. Much as I wish they did. It would be easier that way, but... it doesn't change anything."

"Well, that's something," Dilys muttered, before cursing again. "Shit. This could be enough to destroy him."

"How did Potter take it?" Phineas asked.

"God, I don't know. He's in shock more than anything. It wasn't what he was expecting to hear. I doubt he'll be ready to talk about it for a while – but he took it better than I thought, I suppose."

The portraits looked at each other again. "Should she go to him?" Dilys asked her companion finally.

Phineas frowned. "If it was anyone else, I would say yes. I don't believe he would argue, either, not now; he's in no fit state to protest. But tomorrow... no. I think it's best to leave him. He's quiet now, at least. If we watch him tomorrow, he should manage to get past the worst of it. Just pray that he isn't Summoned before he's found some stability again."

"When you've finished talking about me as though I'm not here," Hermione said pointedly, "maybe you could tell me if he's all right."

"Of course he's not all right," Phineas said irritably. "I fear Dumbledore may have gone too far this time. Severus has taken so much punishment over the years, but even he can't endure this. He could have ruined everything and driven his spy away for good..."

"Thank Merlin that the old fool doesn't know everything after all," Dilys muttered, before turning a piercing stare on the girl. "He doesn't know about you. Otherwise I'm sure he'd have found a way to destroy that by now as well, because for some reason he has never been able to refrain from poking at Severus until he snaps. It's almost a compulsion at times, to see how much he can make the poor man endure." She sighed. "I think Severus will be as fine as he can be, Hermione, after a day or so. But he is very close to the edge. I really don't know how much longer he can make himself survive. He can weather this crisis, I think, but the next one might finish him. Even he can only take so much before he stops wanting to keep fighting."

Hermione nodded soberly, well aware that time was running out for all of them. Determined not to cry again, she swallowed hard and sighed. "I suppose I'd better try and sleep, if I can. Tomorrow's going to be a hell of a day."

The portraits exchanged glances. "I'll warn Poppy in case he's done something foolish," Dilys said softly.

Phineas nodded grimly. "I believe I will ensure that the Headmaster does _not _benefit from a night's sleep. I want a word with him. Sleep well, Miss Granger, if you can. He's going to need you, even if he won't admit it."

_I wish I was so certain, _she thought tiredly as she curled up again, wishing once more for the comforting presence of her cat.

* * *

><p>Severus woke up slumped on the floor in his office, feeling about as wretched as he had ever been. He had a pounding headache and raging thirst that paled beside the vice that seemed to be squeezing his throat and chest. Moving very slowly and unsteadily, he made his way through his rooms to survey the damage; he really didn't remember much of what had happened after they had left. He remembered leaving the room and hearing their footsteps fading and merging with the pounding in his ears, and then... nothing. Total, terrifying blackout.<p>

He had smashed virtually every piece of furniture he had, he noted dully; a brief pang gripped him when he reached his bedroom and saw that he had destroyed his piano. Magic couldn't repair musical instruments for some reason, not properly; they never sounded the same afterwards. Not that it really mattered any more. The bathroom mirror was smashed, but enough shards remained to show him his reflection; he blinked slowly as he saw the blood smeared across his face and examined himself carefully. No, no wounds, which was quite surprising given the state he had been in, but he'd had a nosebleed at some point. In fact, he felt like he had had a seizure; the headache, the ache in his joints, the nosebleed... Acting automatically, he switched the shower on and peeled off his filthy, soiled clothes, shivering as he stepped under the water and leaned back against the tiles, refusing to let his thoughts touch him.

He felt raw, flayed. Well, no, not quite, he corrected himself bleakly; he had actually been literally flayed, so he knew the difference. Still, he would rather go through that again. He had never intended anyone to know about Lily. And he had certainly never wanted Hermione to find out; he shivered when he remembered her quietly telling him that she had already known, swallowing bile and focusing on the burn at the back of his throat until the pain eased into numbness again.

_Damnit, Lily, _he thought despairingly. _You've been dead for a decade and a half, and you're still destroying me. _Angrily he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve; half out of his mind, his control of his emotions had finally snapped and he vaguely recalled crying himself to sleep, or possibly crying so hard that he had passed out from lack of air. Years of repression had flooded out of him, but the catharsis brought no relief.

Or did it? He felt... a total wreck, yes, but actually he didn't feel quite as bad as he would have expected if he had ever dreamed this would happen. Distantly he analysed the feeling. Not pain, not really... yes, it hurt, but mostly he felt... he felt... _angry._

Yes, he remembered feeling like this. Pure rage churned in his stomach, making him nauseous, making his throat burn and his muscles tense and his head ache with the pressure. The cold water sluicing over him was a distant, unimportant sensation, dwarfed by the hate burning in his blood. Dumbledore had gone too far this time, broken the last promise he had still been keeping, and he had done so out of sheer petty spite.

Now, all bets were off.

Fuck the plan. Fuck finding another way.

Let it all burn. Let the world burn. Screw it. It wouldn't matter soon anyway.

Right now he'd do it gladly, and to hell with the consequences.

So, he needed to set some rules. No meeting privately with Dumbledore, because he'd kill the old bastard ahead of schedule if he did. No more training sessions for a while, until he'd regained control of his anger, or he'd end up killing one of them; Potter would need time to come to terms with things too. Meditate as often as possible and rebuild the inner defences that usually kept his rage buried until he needed it. He knew how to handle this, knew how to regain his self control. It was going to be all right.

As for Hermione... Christ, he hadn't thought that could get any more confusing. She knew? What did that mean, then? There was no way in Hell she could ever feel anything if she thought he was pining for a dead woman, surely. That made him pathetic, obsessive and unavailable, or at least uninterested. Not the image he was hoping to cultivate, but... _Ah, shit, I don't know any more. _He had no way of knowing what she thought. God knows he'd had enough problems trying to work that out even before all this crap had happened. He'd stopped the morning jogs already; try not to see too much of her until he had calmed down.

Shivering, he stepped out of the shower and went in search of clean clothes and something for his headache; he had time to meditate for a while before his first class. Everything was almost over; he just had to hold it together for a little while longer.

* * *

><p>Snape wasn't at breakfast the next morning, or lunch; by the afternoon's Defence lesson, Hermione was seriously worried and her lower lip was almost bleeding where she'd been chewing on it. Harry seemed surprisingly all right, more or less, although he had a tendency to look rather startled occasionally and sometimes looked as though he was brooding; Ron stuck to him like a burr and was acting as exuberantly as Fred and George ever had, trying to keep his spirits up. He had tried the same thing with Hermione, and she'd thanked him for the effort but told him to leave her alone. She didn't feel much like being cheerful right now.<p>

Five minutes after the class was due to start, Snape finally swept in just as the fidgeting had threatened to erupt into chaos. He stalked to the front of the room and turned to face them; he looked like seven miles of bad road, frankly, his features paler and more haggard than usual and his general appearance a little the worse for wear. Fixing his eyes on a point in the middle distance, he said crisply, "Your exams are only a few weeks away. You will use this lesson to revise, since I doubt most of you have bothered to do so in your free time. You may speak to one another, provided you do so quietly; any student I hear speaking of something irrelevant to this class or speaking above a whisper will be sorry. Do I make myself clear?"

His voice was slightly husky, with a faintly scratchy quality roughening the usual silky tone, not dissimilar to the way he usually sounded following a particularly bad Summons, but he sounded surprisingly all right given the circumstances. Pretending to study her textbook, Hermione watched him over the top of it; she was well aware that he knew someone was staring at him, but he kept his eyes on his desk and the paperwork he was pretending to do, so for once she was free to watch him. He really did look terrible, tired and drained; his eyes were bloodshot and slightly puffy, although so sunken in his gaunt features that it was almost impossible to tell.

She found her eyes drawn to the desk, and she stared at his hands without knowing why for a few minutes until she realised that his once neat fingernails were bitten short, gnawed right down to the quick. That was such a tiny, insignificant change, but it spoke whole volumes about his fragile mental state at the moment. Clearly, Snape had finally been pushed close to the edge of what he could survive; even his boundless endurance had limits.

After class, she hung back as the others left; she just wanted to try and make sure he was all right, or as all right as he could be. Harry and Ron waited with her, and the three of them very nervously approached his desk; he hadn't once glanced at them all lesson. She exchanged looks with the boys, none of them knowing what to say, then jumped when Snape spoke.

"I have nothing to say to any of you," he said wearily without looking up. "Be on your way." He sounded utterly exhausted, and his voice was a little thick, as though he had a cold. There was no hardness in his voice, no trace of anger or scorn, only a kind of dull and uncharacteristic resignation.

Harry licked his lips and squared his shoulders, very obviously gathering his courage. "Sir...?" he began quietly.

"No, Potter," Snape interrupted softly, still not looking up. "I won't talk about it."

Stubborn as ever. Harry set his jaw and ploughed on regardless. "You betrayed You-Know-Who just to save them?"

After a long pause, their teacher sighed, dropping his quill and ignoring the blot of ink that stained the essay he had been marking. Resting his head in his hands, he said wearily, "Not just for that reason. I wanted a way out anyway... just not badly enough to risk being caught."

"But you risked it for them. For her."

"I failed," he replied starkly. "And there is more to the story that – so far – the Headmaster has not seen fit to enlighten you about." A brief moment of bitterness cut through the listless quality of his voice, but it didn't last. "I _won't _discuss this with you. I at least have that much left. Go away."

The three of them exchanged glances before reluctantly heading for the door; as they reached it, Hermione stopped, lightly pushing them when they made to stop as well. Giving her a worried look, Harry left; Ron grinned encouragingly at her and followed his friend. Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned around.

Snape still hadn't looked up, but he clearly knew she was still there, a theory supported a moment later when he said in a monotone, "I told you to go away, Granger."

Heartened by the fact that he'd dropped the formal 'Miss', Hermione took a breath and gathered her courage. "I will, sir. I just wanted to say again that I've known for a while. It doesn't make a difference to me. And I think that what the Headmaster did was despicable. That's all."

She watched him anxiously during the pause that followed; it was difficult to tell, but his shoulders seemed to have slumped slightly, a little bit of tension deserting him. She heard him sniff thickly – he really didn't sound well – before he sighed and spoke again, his voice sounding slightly less robotic and empty. "Please, just leave me be."

He was asking, not ordering, which was the only reason she was willing to do as he wished; if he had tried to order her again, she would have dug in her heels, but this had been a genuine request. "If you want," she replied quietly, deliberately dropping the 'sir' from the end of the sentence. "People will worry if you aren't at dinner, though," she added, leaving unspoken but heavily implied the modifier that she was one of them; as she let herself out and closed the classroom door behind him, she just hoped he had got the message.

* * *

><p><em>Oh dear... Next time, Harry's brain starts working again and the plot continues to move on. I don't know if it'll be up before Christmas though; this is a busy time of year, after all. If I don't manage to update again before the 25th, I wish you all a very happy Christmas, or other winter festival of your choice.<br>_

_Some absolutely beautiful art from **BulletTimeScully: **_pics dot livejournal dot com /bulletimescully/pic/0001ffh4/s640x480


	28. Chapter 28

_Normal service should now be resumed - for those of you not paying attention, this story was delayed because of a one-shot I put up a few days ago._

_This is going to be another dark chapter, though, I'm afraid._

* * *

><p><strong>"Great occasions do not make heroes or cowards; they simply unveil them to the eyes. Silently and imperceptibly, as we wake or sleep, we grow strong or we grow weak, and at last some crisis shows us what we have become."<strong>  
>– Brooke Foss Westcott.<p>

* * *

><p>A week had never seemed so long before. It was May now, and long days of glorious sunshine only made Hermione feel worse. Something bad happened at the end of every year, that was a fact of life at Hogwarts now, and it seemed this year would be worse than anything they had gone through in the past, and she was scared and feeling very alone at the moment. Curled up in her favourite chair by the fire in Gryffindor Tower, comforted by the sight of the flames even though it was technically too warm for it to be necessary, she rested her head on her hand and did her best to think of nothing as the common room emptied out. She was exhausted, but she knew she wouldn't sleep yet.<p>

A rustle and a soft thump heralded the arrival of someone else, and she looked up slowly before blinking in surprise. "Harry?"

"Hi." He gave her a slightly sheepish smile. "Can't sleep?"

_What gave it away? _She shook her head ruefully. "No. You?"

"I was on my way to bed when I saw you were still up. How are you? We've not really spoken for a few days..."

"I'm okay. What about you?" Harry had spent most of the last week lost in his own thoughts again, except for the brief periods Ron managed to pull him out of it – presumably Ginny had been able to distract him as well, but Hermione wasn't going to ask.

"I don't know, really." He shrugged and grinned. "I know, I'm as helpful as ever. I'm really not sure. Can we talk about it? I mean, I understand if you don't want to, but I thought you might know a bit more than I do and I'm still not sure how I feel about this."

"I don't really _know _anything for certain, Harry. Nobody told me anything. It was mentioned in his medical records that he had a female friend in Gryffindor, but her first name was never mentioned and it took me a while to recognise the surname. Before I knew who it was, I asked about her and I was told it was very personal and a bit sad and that she was dead. That's all I know for sure. The rest I worked out or guessed. But I don't mind talking about it, at least a bit. It doesn't make any difference to me, much as I wish it did."

"How is Snape?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"I don't know. I've not seen him, not really."

"Not at all?"

"Only in lessons and at meals. We'd stopped jogging right before it happened, actually, because he wasn't really well enough for it any more, and he's not been to the hospital wing since then either."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I don't know. If it means he's not been hurt, yes, it's a good thing, but it might just mean he's trying to deal with it himself because he's trying to avoid me."

"You think he is?"

"I don't know," she repeated, sighing. "Probably."

"But I thought... well, you seemed to be getting somewhere, weren't you?"

"I thought we might have been, yes, but then... He never wanted me to know that, Harry, I'm certain of that, and he doesn't know how to deal with it now. He doesn't know what to say, and nor do I. It's all become horribly awkward again. And even without that, he's different now. He's so terribly angry all the time – I can feel it every time he walks past; I can see it in his face."

"He's not angry with you, though, surely?" It was almost sweet, how hard Harry was trying to understand.

"Not directly, but he's angry with everything, I think. It's all made his life so much more difficult, and it was bad enough before. I don't know what's going on, Harry, I really don't. I wish I knew what to say, how to talk to him, but..." She shrugged and tried to smile.

"That's what I don't understand," he said slowly. "Why should it be awkward? I thought... When Dumbledore first told us, I assumed he meant they went out or something, but Snape said they didn't..."

"No, he and your mum never dated or anything, but... he wanted to, I think, so I suppose she didn't. I thought that for a while, but I wasn't certain until I saw his face when you said it. I think he felt a great deal for her, but she didn't feel the same. Maybe. This is all sort of guesswork, but I think I've got it right."

"That doesn't make sense," he objected. "I told you about the memory I saw in the Pensieve. They didn't like each other. She joined in the teasing, called him Snivellus and everything, and he called her a... well, I told you what he called her."

"Yes, you told me. Harry, think about what you've just said. What was happening to him when he said that? Do you really think he even knew what he was saying?" She sat up slowly, realising that it was stupid to be defending him but doing so anyway. "Let's put it in context. Imagine that... that Draco and his idiot friends got hold of you. You're not friends with me or Ron, so you're on your own, and you're not very popular. So the gang that hate you get hold of you, disarm you, make you eat soap, then haul you up in the air and threaten to strip you stark naked in front of everyone. There's a big crowd and they're all laughing. And Ginny's there, and you know Draco fancies her, and he's actually flirting with her while he's tormenting you. She speaks up and tells him to stop it. Yes, she's trying to help, but it hurts your pride, and you're already angry, and scared of what's going to happen, and you hate him... you've said some pretty stupid and nasty things with far less provocation than that."

He opened his mouth, frowned, and closed it again, looking unhappy. "I suppose so. But I still don't understand..."

"That day was in his medical file. Not the details, he wouldn't tell Madam Pomfrey what had happened, but she noticed the soap, and some bruises, and that there was no sign of his friend who always visited him when he was hurt and that they must have had a falling-out. I think your mum stopped speaking to him because of what he said, and I don't think he's ever got over that."

"God, what a mess. How do you feel about it, though? I mean, it can't be easy..."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, and I'm getting very tired of saying that but I don't. Whatever happened, it was before we were even born. I wasn't lying, it really doesn't make a difference to me, but God knows what he feels. I'm not sure he even knows, to be honest; it's pretty weird. I... thought you might have been right that he liked me, but now? I have absolutely no idea."

"Is this why you were so insistent that you didn't have a chance? Because you knew..." Harry took a breath and visibly forced himself to say it. "...Because you knew he was in love with my mum?"

"That was one of the reasons, yes, but I was honest about all the others too." She sighed. "Talking isn't helping. The only way I'll ever be sure of what he feels is if he wants me to know; he's impossible to read at the best of times. And like I said, I haven't seen him. Right now I don't know if we're even still friends, let alone... anything else. I'm worried about him. The Headmaster shouldn't have done it."

"Yeah," Harry agreed slowly. "That's another bit that's confusing me – why did he tell me? You're right, I didn't need to know. I kind of wish I didn't know, but that's still shock, I think – I would have wanted to know, if that makes sense. But I didn't _need _to. Did I? I mean, Snape's been much nicer to me this year than he used to – well, relatively nice, I guess. I don't know if he still hates me or not, but he's been sort of pretending he doesn't, so did I need to know one of the other reasons why he did?"

"No, you didn't. I think... I think the Headmaster told you just so you'd go and yell at Professor Snape. To make him hear it from you, to hurt him. I think it was to punish him for finding out about the Horcruxes."

Harry frowned. "But you told Snape about that."

"Dumbledore doesn't know that. He doesn't know we're friends, or whatever it is we are. He knows about the Healing, but not the jogging, and I'm not sure if he knew about the Occlumency or not, and he definitely doesn't know about my parents. He thinks Professor Snape used Legilimency on you and forced it out of you, because that's what Professor Snape led him to think. It's safer that way, but it made Dumbledore furious, and I think this was his way of paying him back."

"Why do you still call him Professor Snape?" he asked, almost smiling, distracted for a moment. "Do you really still think of him like that?"

"As much as possible," Hermione admitted. "It's best if I do. I don't want to slip up in front of anyone, and he's never said I could use his first name or anything. The subject never came up." Although he had once said she didn't have to call him _sir _all the time... was that what he had meant? _Damnit, he's still making me question everything. _

Her friend nodded distractedly, falling silent and staring into the fire, his expression hidden behind the reflection of the flames in his glasses. "Is that really why Dumbledore did it?"

"I don't know, but I can't see any other reason. You didn't need to know, and it's just given you something else to worry about and driven another wedge between you and Professor Snape. Unless... maybe that was why. Maybe he wants to separate you again."

"Why?"

"Something big is going to happen at the end of this year. We know Dumbledore's making Professor Snape do something bad," Hermione mused, thinking aloud. "Maybe whatever it is will affect how the war goes. With the Horcruxes and everything, I don't think Dumbledore expects you to stay with the Order, and if Professor Snape has something else to do as well, maybe it's easier if there's some distance between you..." She didn't believe a word of it, but it would be nice if there was at least a bit of doubt, and it would help Harry if she could give him an alternative explanation – her friend didn't have much left to have faith in.

"Maybe," Harry agreed doubtfully. "But Snape said he'd asked Dumbledore not to tell anyone – he changed sides to try and protect my mum, so obviously Dumbledore's known since then. And the way he told me – he wanted me to think there had been something going on between them, he wanted me to go charging down there, didn't he?"

He sounded so confused, and Hermione winced inwardly. Harry had hero-worshipped the Headmaster since the beginning of the first year; he'd never seemed to realise how unusual their relationship was compared to that of every other student, and now the first cracks had appeared and he clearly didn't know how to deal with it.

"I don't know, Harry. I have no idea what his plan is. All I know is what I've seen personally. Whatever's going to happen, it's been destroying Professor Snape for months, and Dumbledore's refusing to tell anyone else in the Order about it. He's keeping the Horcruxes a secret from everyone else as well. I have no idea what the Order are actually doing, but it does seem as if the Horcruxes are how we're supposed to beat Voldemort and everyone else is just kind of hanging around in case something goes wrong, and I honestly have no idea what he's making Professor Snape do but it's obviously not good. I don't know why he won't let anyone else know what he's up to."

"How do you know he hasn't told anyone else?"

"This is going to sound a bit strange, but I'm actually friends with a couple of the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses..."

He sputtered a startled laugh at that. "Really?"

"Yes." She grinned. "One of them is Phineas, actually. Sirius' great-grandfather, or whatever he is."

"How on earth...?"

"One of the old Headmistresses was a Healer. She's got a portrait in the hospital wing, and she's friends with Phineas. And they both like Professor Snape, weirdly enough, although I don't know how that happened. They watch over him sometimes. It's sweet, really. And strange. Anyway, they tell me things sometimes. Professor McGonagall's visited him and asked what's going on, and she said Dumbledore wouldn't tell her." She sighed. "They know what Dumbledore's making him do, but they're not allowed to tell me – there's some kind of geas on the portraits, they can't say anything they overhear in the Headmaster's office. All I know is that it's bad, and that they're furious that Dumbledore won't tell anyone else before whatever it is happens."

"That doesn't sound good. I guess it's something that's going to make us wonder whose side Snape's on, again, then?"

"That would make sense, but I'm not sure. I don't know if it's related to whatever's going on with Draco, either. I did try to ask Professor Snape about that a while ago, and he wouldn't tell me anything."

"Have you asked him about what Dumbledore's making him do?"

"Of course I have, loads of times, and in lots of different ways. He won't tell me. Partly it's a pride thing, I think, and mostly it's because he's a stubborn bastard who clings to his independence and tries to do everything on his own, but I know he's worried, and he doesn't seem to believe he's going to survive, which is scaring the hell out of me."

"Really?" Harry frowned. "I don't know what that would be, then. Unless you think Dumbledore's going to order him to kill Voldemort or something."

"That's rubbish. It won't work until all the Horcruxes are destroyed. And I don't think he'd be upset about it, either."

"Yeah, true. Plus Dumbledore knows the prophecy. Does Snape know about that? Oh, wait, he mentioned it in training, didn't he."

"I don't think he knows all of it," Hermione remembered. "I overheard him talking to Dumbledore after the battle at the Ministry, and he asked if Dumbledore was ever going to tell him the part he didn't know."

"Huh. That's weird. What's wrong with him knowing all of it? Even I don't think he'd tell Voldemort anything dangerous, not if he hasn't already. I still don't like him, and I don't think I'd trust him, you know, personally, but I guess he is on our side, even if it's only for your sake."

"I don't know. I know he thinks Dumbledore doesn't trust him, but if even you admit he's on our side..." They shared a smile before she shrugged. "The more I learn about all this, the less sense it makes and the less I'm happy. I don't think anyone actually knows exactly what's going on. Maybe not even Dumbledore knows everything."

Harry bit his lip and frowned, before shrugging. "As long as Voldemort doesn't know either," he said practically.

* * *

><p>Severus didn't bother looking up when someone knocked on his office door, focusing on the fifth year essays he was supposed to be marking – his paperwork was piling up recently as his concentration wavered and his free time became consumed with more important concerns than homework. Half the time he didn't even bother reading the entire essay any more, skimming each one enough to get a rough idea of how much effort had been put in and using that and his knowledge of how smart each student was to give them an approximate grade.<p>

A second knock at the door made him frown; another staff member wouldn't have bothered knocking, and although he doubted Hermione would have come looking for him now, she would have opened the door after the first knock. That meant a student, but the Slytherins seldom troubled him these days...

"Enter," he said curtly, scanning another few lines of the current essay as the door opened. Looking up, he blinked, somewhat startled to see Potter – who had never voluntarily come anywhere near him, to their no doubt mutual relief. He felt an automatic surge of sheer fury and shame, mingling with the usual dull pang of old hurt and dislike that always happened whenever he laid eyes on the boy, but after a moment his defences stirred and cooled everything once more, which was a relief – he hated being out of control of himself, even briefly.

"Potter," he remarked by way of greeting, looking back at his marking. "I am even less inclined to talk to you right now than I usually am. Go away."

"I'm not here to talk to you, sir," the boy replied in a very carefully level voice, obviously trying not to trigger anything. Severus appreciated that, distantly; it was hard enough to hold himself together at the best of times, and this certainly wasn't. "I just thought you should know Malfoy attacked me earlier."

"What?" His head snapped up and he stared at the Gryffindor for a moment, automatically reading his expression; defiant, nervous, but surprisingly calm. Slowly, reluctantly, he set his quill down and sat back. "All right, Mr Potter, you have my full attention. Make it good."

Potter took a steadying breath. "Moaning Myrtle told me a boy was crying in her bathroom. I went in to see what had happened, and it was Malfoy. I tried to talk to him, but, well, we've never really had a civil conversation since he found out who I really was. We argued, and then he attacked me."

"Really?" he replied sceptically, drawing the word out and raising an eyebrow. "And what did you do in return?"

The boy flushed angrily, but held his temper, looking down. "We traded a few minor hexes, but I didn't do anything. I – I almost did, but I stopped myself."

_What do you want, a medal? _"Congratulations," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure you can understand why I might be a little reluctant to take your word for it, given your history of lying to me and antagonising Mr Malfoy."

"He – I mean, no, sir," Potter said quietly. The words were forced out through gritted teeth, but still, it was almost enough to impress Severus. Almost. The boy was finally learning. "If I'd done anything bad, though, he'd have come to tell you about it already."

_I doubt it. _Once, Draco certainly would have come whining – he had done many times before. Publicly, Severus always came to his Slytherins' defence, and usually refused to listen to anyone else's point of view so he could claim plausible deniability later. Privately, he was often as disgusted by their behaviour as anyone else, and behind closed doors he did let them know when they had gone too far. The politics of Slytherin House had always been a hell of a lot more complicated than the easy black and white system of the other three.

"Perhaps," he replied distantly. "What do you intend to do now?"

"You mean, am I going to go to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore?"

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the Headmaster's name, but he was relieved to find that his anger stayed at a manageable level. "I mean exactly what I asked. What do you intend to do now?"

Potter hesitated for quite a long time. Finally he said slowly, "I don't know... sir. Why was he crying?"

_Because he's caught between a rock and a hard place, just like I am. Because he is very young, and he is deathly afraid, and he doesn't know who to trust. _"I really couldn't say."

"Do you know?"

"I could probably hazard an accurate guess, if I had to, but it really isn't any of your business, Potter. Keep your nose out," he recommended quietly.

"What is Voldemort making Malfoy do?"

His arm twinged at the mention of the name, and the seething anger went up another notch, but Severus kept his temper, returning an expressionless stare. "Potter, assuming that for once your unfounded suspicions were right, what on earth makes you believe that I would tell you? How many times do I have to tell you that you are not the centre of the universe?"

"Well, we are supposedly on the same side," he muttered sulkily.

_I have no idea what side I'm on any more. _"And there was almost no emphasis on the 'supposedly'. Well done," Severus replied sarcastically. "Go away, Potter. You weren't hurt, and nor was Draco. Let it go." It was an effort, but he kept his voice soft, slightly closer to asking than ordering. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Potter with his heels dug in; when the boy behaved so stubbornly it was impossible not to remember his parents.

To his mild surprise, Potter nodded reluctantly and replied, "Yes, sir," before turning for the door once more. He hesitated in the doorway. "Sir..."

"_No,_" Severus growled, putting as much warning into his voice as possible. "I told you, I won't discuss it with you."

"I wasn't going to ask about... that," the boy replied indignantly, although the almost guilty tone to his voice made Severus doubt it. He didn't blame Potter for being curious – he didn't know any of his mother's other friends, and Lupin was the only other contemporary of his father still floating around. That didn't mean he was going to talk about it, though. The boy would just have to be curious.

"Then what do you want? I do have work to do."

Potter hesitated again, looking nervous now, which meant whatever he was about to say would probably get him into trouble. Biting back a sigh, Severus lifted his head and regarded him steadily, silently daring him to say it, whatever it was; the boy looked ill. After a painfully visible inner struggle – _Gryffindors..._ – Potter blurted, "Hermione misses you, you know," and bolted, slamming the door behind him as he literally made a run for it.

Severus stared blankly at the door for a moment as he tried to process that. He probably should have been furious that Potter knew anything at all, but he found himself more interested in whether or not it was true. Besides, he was still numb from the last time Potter had learned something very personal about him. Sitting back slowly, he leaned back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling through narrowed eyes. _She misses me, does she?_

He missed her too, much as it pained him to admit it. They had had no contact outside of Defence lessons since... that night. Initially, he hadn't been in any fit state to risk any company, as his defences wavered and his emotions threatened to take over – God alone knew what he might have said or done at the slightest provocation. After the first few days... he'd still avoided her, simply because he didn't know what to say or do. Even in his darkest nightmares he hadn't imagined this particular scenario, and he was well beyond confused now, as well as hurting. But... but he missed her. She was the only person he knew who he could be absolutely sure didn't want anything from him and trusted him completely. He missed listening to her talk, easily and naturally, the way nobody else ever did. She didn't guard her words around him and he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't.

It would be easier not to do anything, he knew. Just leave it, do nothing, let the distance grow until it didn't matter any more. He also knew how miserable it would make him, he hadn't needed Dilys to warn him off to know he couldn't do that, and there seemed to be a certain amount of evidence that she wouldn't be any happier about a separation. The world was going to Hell, he had nobody else he could trust, and things seemed fractionally less dark when she was around. Frankly, he didn't think he could do this by himself any more.

So, where did that leave him? Thoughtfully, Severus looked back at the half-marked essay, reaching for his quill and setting to work once more. It was Thursday today. Tonight he would be too tired and moody to want to try anything – besides, the three of them would probably be training, and he didn't feel up to facing all of them. Tomorrow... well, Friday was a popular night for Death Eater summons, because the few of them who did work usually didn't do so at the weekends, and he hadn't been Summoned last week, so it was likely that there would be a meeting tomorrow evening. That meant that he would possibly be seeing Hermione in the hospital wing anyway, although he wouldn't be in a position to have any sort of civil conversation and they wouldn't be alone.

He glanced briefly at the stack of paperwork cluttering most of the desk. If he could get most or all of it done tonight... Saturday or Sunday would be a good time to try and meet with her, perhaps. He did still need to demonstrate the trickier parts of the Wolfsbane process to her – Lupin's welfare wasn't exactly high on his list of priorities right now, even by his usual standards, but it would be a damned good excuse. They would be on their own for a few hours, with legitimate work he could use to distract himself and buy time whenever it proved necessary, since he knew there would be a lot of moments where he didn't know what to say. She would want to talk about Lily – or would she? If she really had already known for some time, maybe she wouldn't. And she certainly knew him well enough to know he didn't want to talk about it. God, what a mess, but he could at least try to ignore it for a while in the hope that it would go away. That had never worked before, but there was a first time for everything, right? In any case... one problem at a time.

And during those few hours together... Severus bit his lip, debating with himself, then nodded in sudden resolution. All bets were off now. He'd tell her exactly what Dumbledore was asking of him, and to Hell with the consequences. He didn't want to burden her with it, but if he somehow did survive the end of the year he certainly didn't want her to think he was a traitor. Nobody else's opinion mattered, but his first impulse with anyone he liked even slightly was to try and negate the general view of him and present himself in a marginally better light. If he was really lucky, she might even be able to help him sort out his screwed up thoughts and find a way out of this mess. At least he would feel a little bit better about things.

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't happy. She knew that Snape had been Summoned on Friday, because she'd seen the look on his face when he left dinner early and because Phineas had later confirmed it. It was a little earlier than usual, but not so much that there was any reason for unnecessary alarm. He hadn't come back yet, either, but it was only Saturday morning. It wasn't entirely unheard of for him to take a night off now and then; even though he usually sent word if he was doing so, given his current anger at Dumbledore it was perfectly reasonable that he hadn't done so. There was absolutely no need to panic yet. Except for a nagging feeling she had that something wasn't right.<p>

She was trying to dismiss the feeling as sheer exhaustion on her part, because she was absolutely exhausted, and that in itself was adding to her irritation because there was no reason for her to be so tired. She had slept well – like a log, in fact, more deeply than she usually did. Her revision was going well and she wasn't stressed enough to be getting overtired yet; that would come closer to the exam dates. She hadn't done very much today at all and had no plans for the rest of the day. Yet she was absolutely exhausted, and worrying about nothing, and generally winding herself up.

Checking the clock again – half past eleven, less than ten minutes since she'd last looked – she stifled yet another yawn, heavy-eyed, and wondered uneasily again what was making her worry so much. She had been worried about Snape ever since the night Dumbledore had betrayed him so horribly and painfully, but he seemed to have recovered himself to some extent; over the past week or so, that frightening anger had gradually cooled down as he re-established his walls. She knew how damned strong he was; he could cope with pretty much anything, he was a born survivor – he'd had to be. He would be fine, she told herself again – he'd earned the right to disappear for a few hours by himself, away from the school and his master and the reminders of this world. He would be livid if he knew what an idiot she was being.

Irritably, she shifted position and tucked her feet under her, reaching down to the pile of books beside her normal armchair and picking up the topmost one. Everything was fine. The boys were outside playing Quidditch and wouldn't bother her – they didn't know Snape was absent and she hadn't seen any reason to tell them. The common room was reasonably quiet, since it was a warm and sunny day. There was a picture behind her, close enough that she could be called if it proved necessary. Do some work and forget about it. He would be fine.

* * *

><p>Severus couldn't really feel much any more. Earlier he had been in quite a lot of pain, really, what with one thing and another; all his weight had been hanging from his shoulders and wrists, which had been painful in itself even without everything else, but it all seemed quite a long way away now. He was lying on the floor rather than being strung up, now, but he didn't remember when the change of position had happened. The air smelled of blood, a little, but it didn't seem terribly important. He was rather cold, but that was probably only to be expected, because he was fairly sure that he was dying.<p>

It didn't feel as bad as he had thought it would, he reflected quietly. So far, his life hadn't flashed before his eyes, he hadn't seen any tunnels or bright lights and nobody had tried to speak to him. He just felt cold, and everything seemed very quiet and very far away. It was dark, too, but he wasn't sure why because he had a feeling that at least one of his eyes wasn't working properly, so that might not be relevant. He was very tired, a deeper version of the same fatigue that had been dragging at him for months.

Slowly pulling another laboured breath into his lungs, Severus wondered idly how much longer it would take; he had no idea how long he had been here. It could have been two hours or twenty years; he had no frame of reference. He wasn't completely conscious any more, for a start; he was vaguely aware that where his body was, there were people, probably arguing about whose fault it was that they had got so carried away, but he couldn't hear them and wasn't really interested in trying. Much better just to drift here in the quiet depths of his mind, where they couldn't get him, and wait.

He had always known that it probably would end this way, that when it came his death would be painful and lingering and cruel – and it certainly had been, not too long ago; he was more relieved than otherwise now to be too badly hurt to feel it. Such a stupid thing, though, because Voldemort probably didn't even realise it was happening. His master had been suspicious, he remembered that much, and he had been punished for incurring that suspicion, and then the Dark Lord had been called away and had left the others playing and hadn't come back. They had got carried away, apparently, or they had been ordered to, or... well, it didn't really matter now. The point was that he was dying.

Severus turned that thought over in his mind again, trying to discover whether or not he really cared. He didn't think he did, really. It was actually something of a relief. At least it would all be over soon and he wouldn't have to keep fighting any more. There wasn't really anything in his life that he would miss much. A brief memory stirred, and for a moment he saw a pair of vibrant green eyes, but the face that went with them was hazy now and the only emotion it sparked was a faint sense of wistful melancholy. That part of him was well and truly dead already, really. Another memory showed him sparkling brown eyes the colour of dark rum; that image triggered a few more sparks of emotion, mostly a kind of confused, longing regret, but he didn't have the energy to hold on and despite his best efforts her face faded into the dark as well.

He lay quietly, thinking of nothing much, feeling a little more of his strength ebbing away, and contemplated things. No, on the whole, he was relieved to be dying, to be letting go of everything. The Order didn't really need him. His information had been useful, but it had also been limited and usually not heeded anyway, and they would survive quite well without him. They might even win; stranger things had happened, and they were mostly good people. He had never expected to survive until the end.

_Any regrets? _he asked himself wearily, in the silent darkness that filled his mind. Not many, somewhat to his surprise. In fact, the only thing he still regretted now was becoming a Death Eater in the first place; the circumstances had pushed him towards that decision, but it had ultimately been his choice, and even though he hadn't really had any other options he had still made a conscious decision. That had been the first real mistake, and once he had started there was really nothing else he could have done except continue along the path that had eventually led him here, now, to this cold and dark place where he was dying. He considered all the choices he had made since taking the Dark Mark; no, he couldn't have chosen differently, not and stayed true to himself. He hadn't had a good life, really, but he had tried, and not all of it had been completely his fault. That wasn't much, but it was more than could be said of a lot of people.

All the loose ends had been tied up now, anyway. Potter knew something of why he was doing this; that hadn't been part of the plan, but he didn't exactly object to Lily's son not hating him quite so violently any more. His last ties of loyalty to Dumbledore were in tatters and his last debts and obligations were dust. As for Hermione, well, he had a nagging feeling that she at least suspected how he felt about her; he didn't have to regret never letting her know, and at least he wouldn't have to endure the inevitable rejection that would surely follow. In a strange way, that perhaps counted as a win.

Drawing another slow and faltering breath, feeling the air slither from his lungs on the exhale as the cold sank a little deeper into his bones, Severus waited for the end. Recently he had been wondering rather uneasily about what would happen to him after he died, but now that he was here he found that it didn't matter any more. He wasn't attached to this life strongly enough to become a ghost, so he would go on. In the very, very, _very_ highly unlikely event that he ended up in whatever passed for Heaven, well, that spoke for itself; he'd be happy, even if only by default, although he was somewhat foggy about what form that happiness might take now. It was much more likely that he would be bound in a different direction, but even Hell wouldn't be so bad. He wouldn't have to fight any more. He was very good at surviving pain, and no matter how bad the torment, it wouldn't require him to do anything except passively endure it, which would be quite peaceful. And if there was something else, if reincarnation turned out to be real, well, he doubted he could be shoved into a life much worse than the one he had. No, the afterlife wasn't anything to be afraid of now.

This wasn't quite the death he would have liked, but he supposed it could have been worse. He'd die with his cover intact, after all, serving the plan right to the end, and it didn't hurt any more. He did wish someone else was there with him, though. He'd been alone all his life; it would have been nice not to die alone as well.

* * *

><p>The nagging unease that Hermione had been feeling grew steadily worse all day until by late afternoon she was on the edge of a panic attack. There was no point in going to any of the Order; even if something was wrong, they had no way of finding out where Snape was, and besides... she knew with a cold, grim certainty that they wouldn't risk anything to save him. Their spy simply wasn't valuable enough in the Order's opinion to jeopardise any of them, as stupid and as terrible as that was. And she didn't have a scrap of evidence that anything was wrong anyway; Snape had pulled absences like this before, back when she hadn't paid so much attention to his comings and goings, and 'a feeling' wasn't proof of anything.<p>

Even so, she had never felt like this before, and she wasn't about to ignore it completely. As soon as dinner was over, she gave Harry and Ron her usual excuse about monthly cramps and escaped, slipping out into the grounds and making her way through the twilight to the gates. If he did come back and everything was fine, she was going to kill him, she told herself as she settled under a tree and prepared to wait.

* * *

><p>The bone-deep cold didn't have such a strong hold on him. Severus tried to focus, trying to work out why that was. It was difficult; his thoughts were gelid, sluggish and cold now, moving at about the speed of glacial ice, and he was so close to death that it was all but impossible to think, but something had changed. Vaguely, a hazy memory surfaced, of swimming in the cold sea, of pulling his numbed body out of the water into the sun; that was what it felt like, warm gentle sunlight sliding over his chilled skin and chasing the cold away.<p>

That didn't make sense. He wasn't sure, since he'd never died before, but he imagined it would be what he had already been feeling, a slow gradual slide into cold dark silence. This soft golden warmth didn't really match that. He wasn't dead yet, since he was very dimly aware of his dangerously slow and arrhythmic heartbeat and his shallow infrequent breathing as his body clung tenaciously to life despite his mind's acceptance; his instincts for survival had always been very strong. Still, the warmth felt nice, something gentle and soothing to ease him, so he wasn't going to complain. It felt vaguely familiar, too, and he didn't think it was just memories of sunlight, but it was too much effort to try and analyse it further. He simply lay passively and felt it slowly flowing through his chilled body, accepting and welcoming the sensation.

After an indeterminate amount of time, another sensation intruded, this one horribly familiar. Too weak to protest the invasion of his mind, Severus shied away from the probe and sank deeper, sliding away from each insidious grasping touch. He was dying, but he was damned well going to die on the right side. Voldemort could bugger off and leave him to die in peace; he wasn't going to tell the snake-faced lunatic anything now. Abandoning most of the surface memories to the foul grip of his master, he drifted into the quiet depths where all his secrets lay hidden, relaxing into the gentle pervasive warmth that followed him down.

"_He can hide nothing now. You were so sure that he was a traitor..._"

"_He is, my Lord, I swear it –_"

"_You lie. I would have found it if he was. Ah, Severus, your fellows doubt you so much, but you are truly mine still, aren't you, all of you..._"

Something else slid through his awareness, and he was distantly pleased that he couldn't feel his body any more, because he really didn't want to know what was happening to it now. All physical sensation had faded to cold numbness, and all mental sensation was reduced to the tantalising golden warmth that embraced him; whatever else might be happening was no concern of his any more. It was almost over.

"_Get him to Hogwarts. Let us see how much they value my spy. You had better hope that they save his life; he is too valuable to die yet and I will blame you if he does. Go._"

Cold and warmth mingled strangely in the eddying currents of his quiet mental ocean, and Severus drifted, letting go of everything as the merciful darkness claimed him.

* * *

><p>Hermione stayed awake as long as she could, but some time after eleven she fell into an uneasy doze filled with troubled dreams, starting awake at every sound. She finally woke up properly, aching and stiff from falling asleep sitting against a tree, and as she slowly got up and began to pace to stretch her cramped muscles she glanced at her watch; just gone five in the morning.<p>

_Oh, God._

She was certain Snape had never been gone this long without sending word. If he had sent word to Dumbledore, Dilys and Phineas would know, and would have seen that she wasn't in bed; they would have told someone, probably Madam Pomfrey, who would have come to get her. For Snape to still be absent, after almost thirty six hours, without sending anything to say he was on a mission... something had happened to him. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. There was no way of finding him, or even of knowing if he was still alive... she bit her lip fiercely to hold back a sound, shivering violently. _Don't think like that. He's still alive. He has to be._

When a sharp _crack _echoed through the dawn stillness a short time later, she almost screamed, drawing blood from her lower lip as she froze. Several dark shapes stood beyond the gates; after an anxious few moments, she saw them draw away from something on the ground, turning and Disapparating with another thunderous _crack. _Barely pausing to make sure they were gone, she raced to the gates, yanking at the bars; she was in no state to remember that only the teachers could open the Hogwarts gates, and as they yielded to her frantic assault and swung open easily it didn't really matter. Running forward, she dropped to her knees by the huddled shape, nearly gagging on the smell of blood, and stared in momentary frozen horror.

"My God," she whispered numbly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The grainy predawn light of sunrise this far north mercifully hid some of the details, and sheer shock helped shield her from the impact of the rest; for a moment all she could see was red and black. Working through the frozen panic, she reached out with a shaking hand to touch his neck, flinching at the feel of his cool skin slick and sticky with drying blood as she tried to find his pulse.

Finally she felt a slow throb under her fingertips, and almost collapsed with relief, a sob catching in her throat; Snape was still alive. How, she had no idea; she had never seen anyone so badly hurt. His face was a mask of blood that did nothing to hide the injuries underneath, and his clothes were in tatters and there seemed to be a wound visible through every rip and tear. His pulse was very weak and slow, and dangerously arrhythmic, but it was there. Swallowing bile as she stared at the blood on her fingers, she took a deep breath and almost retched again at the thick sweet coppery smell of blood, that almost but not quite hid the other smells of burned meat and filth, and frantically thought of fog; if she panicked now, he would probably die. He was minutes from death, as far as she could tell, and she fumbled numbly for her wand.

"_Mobilicorpus,_" she whispered finally, her voice shaking. It was very dangerous to move him without knowing how badly he was hurt, but it was more dangerous to stay here outside the protection of the school grounds; she levitated him through the gates and kicked them shut behind her before spreading her robe out on the grass beside the drive and lowering him as gently as possible.

Trembling, she struggled to think, finally starting to cast a couple of diagnostic spells. If he was still alive, most of his injuries probably wouldn't be immediately fatal, but... yes, he was still bleeding in a few places on his back. Easing the unconscious man onto his side, she gingerly peeled away some of the remains of his robe, and nearly threw up; his back was one raw red ruin, except for the darkness of bad burns and a brief, horrible glimpse of white bone. Swallowing hard, she focused on the buzzing in her ears and thought of fog, automatically finding the places where he was still bleeding. Blood loss would kill him if nothing else did. He was bleeding internally too, but there wasn't much she could do here.

Once she had dealt with that, she turned her back on him, trying not to listen to the terribly faint, laboured rasp of his breathing. She needed to clear her head, and she couldn't do that while looking at the ruins of what had been done to him. This was well beyond her, and since there was absolutely no way she was leaving him here to go for help, she needed to calm down and somehow focus on a happy memory in order to conjure her Patronus. It had never been so difficult to meditate, but she kept at it, focusing on the fact that he needed her to do it; when she felt calmer, she tried to think of something happy, finally settling for the simple fact that he was alive and trying to picture that lopsided little smile of his.

"_E-expecto patronum,_" she whispered at last, her voice catching, watching her silver otter slowly forming. Stammering the message, she watched it streak off towards the castle and the hospital wing, before turning back to Snape's unconscious figure; it would be a while before the mediwitch could get down here, so she should try and do something useful and find out the extent of the damage. If she could stop crying long enough to see what she was doing, at least.

* * *

><p><em>Before you all go mad, relax. He's not dead, and I know what I'm doing. Trust me. It's not as bad as it seems.<em>

_Happy New Year!_


	29. Chapter 29

_The next few chapters are going to be so much fun, you guys!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Maybe I'm not but you're all I got left to believe in<br>Don't give up on me  
>I'm about to come alive<br>And I know that it's been hard  
>And it's been a long time coming<br>Don't give up on me  
>I'm about to come alive..."<strong>  
>– Train, 'I'm About To Come Alive'.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione had no idea what time it was now. She vaguely remembered Madam Pomfrey suggesting she go to breakfast and try to behave normally, and she had flatly refused. She <em>had <em>gone to find Harry and Ron very briefly once they had got Snape into the hospital wing, telling them he had been hurt and she would be absent until things were sorted and asking them to cover for her if anyone noticed, but since then she hadn't left the bedside.

They had cleaned him up a bit, at least, but in some ways that made it worse. Without the smears of dried blood and the remains of most of his clothing as camouflage, the horrific extent of his injuries could be seen. The shock had been bad enough to render both witches – and the portraits – speechless for a moment; they didn't have words for what had been done to him. Every form of torture Hermione had ever heard of was laid out in front of them, along with a lot that she _hadn't_ heard of, and on top of all the physical injuries his damaged nerves were on fire from the worst Cruciatus damage Madam Pomfrey had ever seen.

"What's next, Madam Pomfrey?" she asked the nurse hoarsely, wiping her forehead on her sleeve. They had closed the worst of the open wounds and dealt with some of the internal injuries, and she had gone totally numb, with no idea of which of the remaining injuries was most serious.

"For a start, Hermione, call me Poppy. We don't have time for formality," the mediwitch said wearily, trying to smile. "Besides, you've earned it."

She tried to smile back. "Okay. Thank you. What's next?"

"I don't know. Broken bones, I think."

The older witch's voice sounded strange, and Hermione looked at her sharply. "What aren't you telling me?"

After a long silence, Dilys said quietly from the wall, "The organ damage is killing him, but... he's not strong enough to survive the shock of any attempt to heal it. If we can't bolster his reserves, he's going to die with the next healing spell."

Biting her bloody lip, Hermione nodded slowly, thinking through the tired haze. "The ways you've taught me, of giving strength... the shock of that will kill him too, won't it?"

"Yes."

"So we need a potion, or something." She licked the sore spot of the bite absently, forcing her brain into gear. Strengthening Solution wasn't strong enough to be of any use. Strength Potion would wear off, and the downer when it did would kill him, and they didn't have any in the castle anyway. What else...

"I think we need to contact the Headmaster," Poppy said finally. They had told Dumbledore that Snape was back, but nothing else yet; given their recent estrangement, Dumbledore wouldn't be expecting a report unless there was something to report.

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"I think we need Fawkes. Phoenix tears might be the only hope. And even then, he is so weak..."

Hermione and Dilys exchanged glances; she had the feeling Snape would probably rather die. It was just as well he was in no state to object, really. "Wait," she said suddenly. "I know something that might work. There's a potion in his lab that he told me about once, a healing potion he invented for desperate measures. We should try it – he won't want the Headmaster involved unless there really is no other choice."

"I know they've fought recently, although I don't know why..."

"Dilys will fill you in. I'll be back soon." Hermione took off, with Phineas keeping pace through the endless picture frames and warning her when people were coming; it let her move through most of the castle at a dead run, slowing to a walk only when other people could see her.

"I know nothing about healing," the wizard's portrait told her. "He's dying, isn't he?"

"Yes. But he's not dead yet." She glared at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm not giving up."

"I wouldn't expect anything else. This is as close as I can get – he hasn't replaced any of the pictures in his rooms yet, and the one in that lab is still blocked. Hurry, Hermione."

The fact that Phineas had used her first name made it obvious how worried he was; Hermione nodded and jogged swiftly down the passage, thankful that she hadn't encountered any of the Slytherins down here. She had leaped down the short flight of stairs to the archway before it occurred to her that she didn't know how this door worked; there was no password. Snape had told her nobody could get in unless he personally took them inside... oh, how she hoped that was only necessary the first time.

She laid her hand on the door, reaching for the handle with her other hand, and prayed. _Come on, come on... please don't let him have been too paranoid... _A ripple of cold ran over the wood under her palm as his magic flared to life, and she held still as it flowed across her skin, shivering at the sensation. Time seemed to stop for an endless moment, before there was a click and the handle turned and she nearly sobbed in relief.

The lab was still as impressive as it had been the only other time she had seen it; evidently his destructive episode hadn't reached this far down. She ignored it this time, searching frantically along the shelves of potions before realising what an idiot she was being and sternly telling herself not to panic, scrabbling for her wand again. "_Accio _Last Chance potion," she gasped breathlessly, and snatched the jar of thick dark grainy-looking potion out of the air. After a moment she added hopefully, "_Accio _phoenix tears," but she wasn't surprised when nothing happened. _It was worth a try, _she told herself, heading for the door.

A gleam of gold caught her eye and she paused, blinking at a small rack on one of the benches; it held half a dozen single-dose vials filled with the distinctive glittering gold of Felix Felicis potion. No time to wonder why he had it; it certainly couldn't hurt. Snatching one of them, she closed the door behind her and started the long run back to the Infirmary.

* * *

><p>After a brief discussion, they divided the Felix Felicis between herself, Poppy and Snape, to increase the chances of their treatments working as effectively as possible. Now she held up the jar of Last Chance potion and they all regarded it dubiously.<p>

"What does this potion do?" the nurse asked.

"I don't know," Hermione replied helplessly, still catching her breath from her sprint through the castle. "He said it was a last-chance healing potion. Kill or cure. I know it's a risk, but the Felix will help a bit, I hope. I don't even know what dose you're supposed to take."

"This is dangerous."

"He's dying anyway," Phineas said brutally from the edge of Dilys' portrait. "Phoenix tears won't even work on someone with the Dark Mark; a substance of pure Light against that much dark magic? You have no idea what will happen. It will try to purge the Mark from him, to heal him from it – it is a wound from a curse, after all – and that will kill him. You either try this potion, or you watch him die."

Hermione blinked away tears, too numb to feel much. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Do it, then," the mediwitch said quietly. "Slowly. I'll be monitoring his vital signs. If he reacts badly, we might have time to do something... we need all the luck in that potion now."

_Please, let this work... _Chewing her bloody lip again, she gently eased Snape's mouth open, carefully trickling a small amount of the thick, gluey potion between his cracked and dry lips, less than a mouthful, and stroked his throat until he swallowed it. Realising she was holding her breath, she exhaled and watched his face. "Is anything happening?"

"His heart is beating faster. A lot faster. His blood pressure hasn't changed but it was already far too high. His adrenaline levels are increasing and his temperature is rising..."

"He's starting to sweat," Dilys called from the wall. "He's too dehydrated for it. Get some water into him. Use the distilled water so it won't react with whatever was in that potion." Hermione did so, carefully administering regular sips of water as the nurse reported that his heartbeat was almost double what it should be and his already high blood pressure was climbing.

For a very tense few minutes Snape hovered on the verge of a heart attack, a stroke or both, but finally his racing pulse began to slow down. His blood pressure plummeted, then climbed again, before finally stabilising – still higher than it should be, but not by much. When his heartbeat reached something approaching normal, it was steadier than it had been before, and he seemed to be breathing a little more easily, although he was running a feverishly high temperature.

"All right," Poppy said quietly at last. "He seems a little stronger, and we can't afford to wait any longer. Start on the bones, Hermione, and I'll work on the organ damage. Keep checking his vitals, and tell me the instant something changes. If you get too tired, for Merlin's sake tell me – carelessness now could kill him. Let's get to work."

* * *

><p>Noon came and went, and the afternoon slowly dragged on into evening, and then night. Snape was now lying on his stomach so Poppy could work on his back; his spine and spinal cord were still intact, but most of the skin was gone, the long muscles had been sliced in several places, half the flesh was missing down to the bone – it looked like he had been flayed, beyond a mere whipping, and there were a few burned patches as well – and underneath all that one shoulder blade was virtually shattered and a few ribs were cracked.<p>

Hermione was too tired for anything that big now. She had just finished mending his right knee – by the look of things, the joint had been forced the wrong way until it had snapped, then worked back and forth to increase the damage before being left out of place until the inflammation was too serious to reset it easily. As she worked, she had found a deep bite scar on his calf and had nearly gone into a fit of hysterical laughter, realising that it was from when Fluffy had bitten him in the first year. Having stopped briefly for some coffee and a few mouthfuls of food, she returned to work.

Now she was tending to his hands, re-growing the missing fingernails and mending bones that hadn't been broken so much as disjointed. The work was delicate enough that she had to work slowly, which was just as well, because she was exhausted now. Working wandlessly, one hand rested on his wrist to measure his erratic pulse as the fingers of the other slowly travelled over each injury; she was using the chance to hold his hand, although she doubted he could sense it now.

Snape had almost regained consciousness once; his eyes had half-opened, he had made a few choked and incoherent sounds of agony and tried to flinch away from them, before passing out again with another faint whimper. Apart from that, he hadn't so much as twitched, and made no sound except for his laboured breathing. Working on autopilot now, numb from shock and weariness, she watched his face; his skin was so pale now that everything stood out. The deep shadows beneath his eyes – his eye, rather; the other was hidden behind bandages at the moment where they had nearly blinded him – the extensive bruising mottling one cheek, the dark patchy stubble covering his jaw, his surprisingly long eyelashes. He was so thin, so hurt that he looked almost fragile; unconscious, he didn't show that forceful vitality and strength.

_It's going to be all right, _she told herself again, trying to make herself believe it. His pulse beat more steadily under her fingertips than it had done earlier; he was still alive, and there wasn't much left to do. The internal bleeding and organ damage had been fixed, and so had almost all the broken bones. They had dealt with a cracked skull and the slight swelling of the brain; he'd been lucky not to have more damage. Most of the deeper flesh and muscle injuries had been cleaned and closed; once his back was patched up, there should only be the severe nerve damage to deal with, and then tomorrow they could deal with the smaller things. Hopefully he would be awake by then.

She had never been so frightened in her life, but it was going to be okay, she repeated to herself. He was alive and he was healing. Whatever had happened, he had survived it. He couldn't have been found out; had the Death Eaters known he was a spy he would never have been returned alive, no matter how badly hurt. But what about next time? His reserves were gone now, physical, mental, magical and emotional. He wouldn't survive anything else major. He had been right on the edge as it was.

_Don't you dare die on me, _she told him silently as another joint realigned under her hand and she gently moved and flexed his long fingers to test it. _I'm not brave enough to do this without you. _Absently moving a lock of his lank black hair away from his face, she glanced at his back to see how the mediwitch was getting on, and found the older woman watching her.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

The nurse shook her head slowly, half smiling. "You're too tired to keep your emotions off your face now, Hermione."

She froze for a moment, her heart starting to pound. Of course she'd betrayed herself over the past few hours... Oh, bloody hellfire. Swallowing, she said uncertainly, "Madam Pomfrey... _Poppy, _I..."

"Relax, Hermione. I didn't mean to scare you." Poppy turned her attention back to Snape's back, running her wand slowly along one of the half-closed wounds. "I'm not daft, my dear, and I've come to know you over the past two years, and I do know Severus better than he thinks I do. If I had a problem, I would have said something, either to you or to him."

Swallowing again, she followed the older witch's lead and returned to work, smoothing the swelling from one of his knuckles so she could nudge it back into place. "Shouldn't you have said something anyway?" she asked uneasily.

"Probably," Poppy agreed quietly. "If it had been anyone else, I would have done. But Severus would never take advantage of his position, and I have yet to meet a student more capable of knowing their own mind and thinking before they act than you. And nothing has happened yet, has it?"

"No," Dilys and Phineas chorused mockingly from the wall.

Hermione was tired enough to respond with one of the additions to her obscene vocabulary that she had learned from Snape, and too tired to fight her blush when it earned her a round of laughter.

Poppy smiled a little and cleaned some more blood from his pale skin. "Then I haven't seen or heard anything to say something about. For what it's worth, you couldn't have chosen better. You know how difficult he can be, but once you learn how to see past that spiky shell he projects, he's a good man – better than he believes he is – and he doesn't commit lightly. And you know most of what he's been through; you're a good girl and I think you're patient enough to give him the time he needs." She added before Hermione could respond, "I am so relieved you already knew about Lily before Albus told you all. I could kill him for that. It's almost the worst thing he's ever done to Severus."

She nodded. "I still can't believe he did it. I mean, it was aimed at Harry, not me, because he doesn't know... anything... but still, it was horrible. I'm glad I already knew too, or God knows how I'd be feeling right now."

"Poor Severus must be very confused at the moment," the nurse noted quietly as she began to close another gash. "But he's alive, thanks to you, and he'll pick himself up. It's going to be all right."

"I hope so, but is it? We still don't know what's going to happen at the end of the year."

"It can't be worse than what we've seen him go through already, can it?" Poppy asked, glancing up at the picture frame.

Dilys and Phineas looked at each other before the witch's portrait shrugged. "Wait and see how he is when he wakes up from this and works out what happened. I have a feeling this will change things for him, and I don't think any of us can be sure how."

* * *

><p>Everything hurt.<p>

He tried to move, reflexively reaching for his wand with a stiff and not very responsive arm, and reached mentally for wandless magic at the same time as he realised someone else was there. Something was draped over him, restricting his movements; he tried to struggle, to push the weight off, and the world became a thing of red, screaming agony.

"Severus, calm down! You're safe! Severus, stop it, it's all right..."

He dragged in a breath that hurt the whole way down, dimly aware that he recognised the voice, and experimentally stopped thrashing around for a moment. The pain lessened, and he shivered, sinking back and trying to work out what was going on. He was lying on a bed, which was certainly an improvement over the dirty stone floor he seemed to remember, and the air smelled of clean cotton and healing potions rather than blood, sweat, shit, urine, vomit and burned meat.

Gingerly he attempted to open his eyes, somewhat dismayed to find that only one seemed to be responding until he felt bandaging holding the lids of the other one closed. Blinking against the dim lamplight, he focused on the figure standing by the bed, and Poppy Pomfrey's face swam into wavering focus.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting to see, but this wasn't it. Severus searched his immediate memories, disturbed by the flashes of sensation. "What... happened?" he asked, startled by how bad his voice sounded and how much it hurt to speak; he didn't recall ever sounding quite this bad.

"You scared the hell out of us, is what happened," she told him sharply, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him with an expression that took him right back to being eleven years old; he barely restrained the impulse to whine that it hadn't been his fault. "You were Summoned on Friday during dinner – do you remember that much?"

"Yes," he croaked a bit hesitantly after a moment's thought, giving her a grateful look when she held a glass of water to his lips.

"It's now Monday night – no, it's after midnight. It's Tuesday morning."

He spilled most of the water. "_What_?"

"Stop trying to talk," the nurse scolded. "Can't you tell your throat's in ribbons?" Flicking her wand to dry the mess, she refilled the glass and held it for him again. "You were dumped outside the gates about half past five on Sunday morning. We don't know who brought you back, but they didn't stay long, just left you by the gate and Disapparated." Her hands were shaking as she took the glass away.

Licking his lips, Severus thought about this for a while. "Who..." he asked finally, already certain of the answer.

"Hermione, of course. She was waiting for you by the gates. Probably not for the first time, either," the mediwitch added sharply.

"Told her not to," he rasped.

"Well, on this occasion it's a very good thing she didn't listen. She sent her Patronus to me and managed to stabilise you so that by the time I got there we could get you up here without being seen. She's asleep next door now; the poor girl's absolutely exhausted and almost totally drained. We've spent almost forty eight hours trying to save your sorry carcass, Severus Snape, and neither of us managed to sleep for worrying."

"Not my fault," he protested weakly, his mind racing – well, as much as that was possible in his condition. Limping, perhaps, rather than racing. Still, things were adding up. He wasn't sure he much liked the answers he was coming up with, but nothing was really sinking in yet.

"What happened, Severus? I – we were worried you had been exposed... Well, Phineas insisted that you wouldn't have been brought back alive if that was the case, but..."

"He's right." He pushed weakly at the blanket that practically tied him to the bed. "Get this off me. I can't breathe."

Grumbling, she loosened the bedding, enough to let him squirm painfully and slowly into a sitting position. It _hurt_. A lot. Gritting his teeth, he panted shallowly, pushing through the pain until his mind calmed, and leaned back against the pillows.

"I wasn't caught," he said finally, his voice hoarse and rough. "It was a test. Someone insisted I was a traitor, and he wanted proof. Wanted to push me as far as possible. He thinks I would have confessed had I had anything to confess." Because Voldemort had never understood him any more than anyone else had. Physical pain had never been the way through his armour; it didn't mean enough to him. "Then he was called away, and someone else took over."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know." He had his suspicions, though. Bellatrix made a nice choice of suspect, but he didn't remember a female voice, or her terrifying laughter. It didn't really matter at the moment anyway. Pushing at the blankets again, he looked up at her. "I need to get up."

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not. I need to piss."

"Tough luck, and you know your bad language won't shock me into giving in. You're not going anywhere, Severus, and if you try I'm going to hex you for your own good."

He attempted a mirthless smile, his dry lips cracking. "You won't be the first." Shaking his head, Severus gingerly reached up to touch the bandaging around his face. "Take this off. I need to see how bad it looks. I've got a full day's teaching tomorrow."

"Severus, don't be stupid. I told you, you're not going anywhere."

"You're wrong." Finding the knot that held the bandaging, he began to pick at it, wincing at the stiffness in his tender fingers. By the feel of it, he'd lost a couple of fingernails and had needed to have them regrown, and the fingers themselves felt as though they had been rather badly broken. "I need to get back to work as soon as possible." He coughed painfully; the cracked ribs had knit, but still ached, and his throat was raw. "You forget, half my House are spying on me for their relatives by now," he said bitterly. "I can't afford to show weakness, now more than ever." He pulled the bandaging free, smelling the ointment that had been smeared on it, and sighed in relief when his eye opened and the world came back into focus.

"Severus, please, don't do this." Poppy's voice was suddenly very quiet. He looked at her and she stared back at him. "You're hurt. You were... worse than anything I have ever seen." She started blinking rapidly, and he realised to his shock that she was near to tears; he had never seen her cry before, and frankly it was terrifying. "You almost died on us. Please, just rest. Let yourself have time to heal."

"I can't, Poppy," he said as gently as he could manage. "There's no time left. It's all coming to a head. He wouldn't have risked possibly accidentally killing me if he didn't think that soon he wouldn't need me here any more. I don't have time to rest now."

"Damnit, Severus, you don't know how badly you were hurt!"

"Yes, I do," he replied softly. "Probably better than you do." He had been far closer to death than anyone could suspect; he remembered again the dark silence pulling at him and realised that something had changed. He wasn't afraid any more. Working loose the bedding on one side, he gingerly slid his legs out of bed, wincing as his body protested, riding the pain until it settled to something he could live with. He had been stripped to his underwear, which was still stiff with dried blood and other things in a couple of places despite the obvious effort, but at least the rest of him was clean now. "What have you told the Headmaster?"

"Nothing, damn your stubborn hide, only that it was worse than usual," she snapped angrily at him, tears gleaming in her eyes. "But it was close. At one point we almost had to call Fawkes in, because it looked like phoenix tears were the only way we could save you."

He only nodded, gathering his strength for the effort that would be needed to stand up. "And what have you told everyone else?"

"A stomach virus. And Hermione developed a bad rash all down both arms that needed close observation for some hours."

From a leftover Skiving Snackbox, no doubt. "How is she?"

"Utterly exhausted and almost completely drained. She worked incredibly hard." The nurse smiled proudly. "She wouldn't stop until she collapsed. She's almost as stubborn as you are."

Severus was saved from having to respond to that by choosing that moment to force himself to his feet. The world was suddenly filled with flashing red and black lights, and he hissed a string of vivid and colourful obscenities as every cell of his body screamed in protest. Swaying, he caught himself against the wall, gasping as sweat broke out all over his body and dizziness gripped him, and panted through gritted teeth until it eased off a little.

"Clothes?" he asked weakly, wondering how the hell he was going to teach tomorrow. If he had still been teaching Potions it would have been impossible; he couldn't possibly spend all day pacing around a room that was constantly changing temperature and filled with fumes. Sitting or standing and delivering lectures would be bad, but hopefully not impossible, if he was careful, and he could probably get away with just ordering most of the classes to study quietly since the exams were coming up. He'd have to find out who had taught Defence today and what the hell they had tried to teach his students, too; hopefully it would just have been revision sessions...

"We burned what was left of the rags you were wearing. Once we'd soaked them off your raw, burned and bleeding flesh." She sounded justifiably angry, but Severus was paying more attention to the ringing in his ears. "I'll have a nightshirt for you when you crawl out of the bathroom, but you're staying here at least until the morning. You need to sleep. And you can't take any more medicine of any kind for at least a few more hours."

Grudgingly, he gave in, mostly because he was pretty sure he would pass out and fall down the stairs if he tried to make it back to his own rooms. Even his hair ached. The room spun a little as he limped very slowly and very shakily to the bathroom, but he started to feel better once he had emptied his aching bladder; after all, most healing potions were just that – potions – and all that liquid had to go somewhere. Once he was finished, he began surveying the damage, or as much of it as he could see with the aid of the small mirror.

He had a hell of a lot of new scars. By the look of things, most of the skin on his back had gone; the patchy scar tissue was in different patterns now. All that remained of the injuries to his face was a split in his left eyebrow, but he knew he had almost lost the eye. A short and thick scar on his side suggested makeshift surgery had been needed, and the various aches stabbing into his abdomen at different points indicated a lot of internal injuries to go with it; he felt the fatigue dragging at him, knowing his own magic was draining in an effort to put himself back together. He was running a fever, and he was bloody starving; he'd lost more weight even in just two days as what little spare flesh he had left was burned up to fuel the healing.

That was what Last Chance did; Hermione must have brought it from the lab. It was probably the only thing that had saved him, but he was glad she hadn't known how dangerous it was. If he hadn't had enough strength and enough reserves for the potion to draw on, it would have killed him trying to save him. Just standing here leaning on the sink was making him feel nauseous and dizzy; he would have to be very, very careful now, and he'd have to try and rebuild his strength as quickly as possible – and not through artificial means; he wasn't out of danger yet, and a mistake could kill him. In an ideal world, he would be able to rest for weeks while he recovered, but he didn't have weeks, or even days. He barely had hours before he had to get back to work.

_No rest for the wicked. _Severus washed his hands and face gingerly before straightening up and staring soberly at his reflection. He should be dead. He remembered feeling death waiting to drag him down, but he had survived. Only it hadn't been his doing. Golden sunlight... He shook his head slowly and looked down at his right arm, gently laying his fingers on his forearm. "_Finite,_" he whispered, and stared at the bloody wound ringing his arm and confirming his suspicions.

Biting back muffled curses, he dug his fingers into the wound, ignoring the blood that welled up and the stabs of pain as he found a burned bit. Patiently working his way around the injury, he prised out the twisted and bent metal embedded into his forearm, until finally the corroded and battered strip of copper slid down his bloody skin to his wrist. Washing out the wound – the last thing he needed right now was copper poisoning on top of everything else – Severus murmured a snatch of healing spell to close it and gently worked the remains of the bracelet back up over the new scar before concealing it again. Even that much effort left his head spinning, but it had needed to be done.

He didn't quite crawl out of the bathroom, but it was certainly close, and he had to accept Poppy's help to get the nightshirt over his head before he collapsed onto the bed and suffered himself to be tucked in like a child, barely able to mutter a slurred attempt at a thank you before sinking into thick unconsciousness to the vague sensation of her smoothing his hair back from his face gently.

* * *

><p>When he opened his eyes only a couple of hours later, he found that he wasn't alone. The infirmary was silent, and Poppy had obviously gone to bed, but Hermione had come to check on him and had fallen asleep again in a chair beside his bed, her hand resting palm-up on the blankets. Just enough moonlight came through the window to let him see her face, and Severus watched her silently for a while, wondering if she had any idea of what she had done, if she realised what had happened and why she was so completely drained.<p>

He flexed his arm wearily, feeling the slight resistance of the now rather battle-scarred copper bracelet, and smiled crookedly. _Protego, _indeed. She had meant it to be a protective talisman, and it definitely had been. Somehow, there had been some sort of connection, maybe when she had made the thing or maybe when she had given it to him and he had put it on, or maybe something else. Whatever had happened, when he had truly needed it, when he had been dying and desperate, he had drawn on her magic. Not consciously, or even unconsciously because he didn't think it had originated with him at all, but somehow her magic had flowed into him and saved his life.

But that made no sense at all, because magic simply didn't work like that. There were some forms of magic that could travel vast distances, but healing magic couldn't; you had to be touching the person you were trying to heal. And you had to know they needed healing; he had never heard of accidental healing before. And no talisman he knew of could function like that. Yet it had happened; he wouldn't be here now if it hadn't. He remembered the gentle warmth of her magic; even a scant inch from death, he had recognised it, although he hadn't been able to place it at the time.

And if he needed any more proof at all, if he concentrated, he could feel the subtle presence of a new life debt at the back of his mind. He had lived with the debt he had owed James for fifteen years before being able to discharge it to Potter Junior; he certainly knew what it felt like, although this one didn't feel anywhere near as intrusive. And that, too, was interesting, because although she had undoubtedly saved his life, it shouldn't have formed a debt. Poppy had saved his life countless times, and he didn't owe her, not in a magically binding sense; she was a Healer and that was what they did. Admittedly Hermione was only an apprentice, and an unofficial one at that, but that didn't change the fact that he shouldn't owe her anything. What she had done clearly didn't come under the scope of a Healer's duty.

If he'd had the energy, he might have laughed; he had wanted some sort of concrete proof of her feelings before he would let himself believe what he had been told, but he hadn't needed something quite this dramatic. Apparently Dilys had been right – and Potter, apparently; Jesus Christ, the world really must be ending. That was quite a nice feeling, he supposed, but he felt so ill right now that he wasn't really in a position to appreciate it. Something to think about later, when he was sure he was still alive.

Severus watched the young woman sleeping for a while longer, for once allowing himself to stare as long as he wished; his eyes drank in every detail, memorising her features even though they were already etched into his mind. Everything had changed, this weekend; his whole world had shifted into a new alignment. Before this had happened, Severus had been resigned to death, prepared to give what remained of his empty and unwanted life to the plan, frightened and rather desperately giving Dumbledore what few pitiful scraps of trust he had left despite the old man's most recent betrayal.

Now, though... now everything was different. Now, Severus had no intention of dying until he had pursued this thing between him and the girl sleeping by his bed and found out just what there was between them. There was undeniably something there, and it clearly went deeper than he had ever thought possible, and he was determined to find out what. This might just be the chance he had never had, and he'd be damned if he was going to waste it. Come hell or high water, he was going to find another way.

The drugs they had given him were wearing off, and he was in a slowly increasing amount of pain that threatened to be really, really bad soon. Ignoring it as best he could, Severus moved, very slowly and gingerly; it took a very long time for him to lever himself stiffly and painfully onto his side, and when he reached out his arm barely responded. He felt horrifyingly weak, but he kept going, struggling to focus bleary eyes, until he managed to lay his hand over hers, his fingers trembling for a moment. Her hand twitched, and he looked at her face in some alarm, but she didn't wake even as her fingers loosely curled over his. Relaxing, he closed his eyes and stopped fighting, sinking into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't expecting to see Snape at all the following day, but to her utter astonishment he walked into the Great Hall the next morning for breakfast as though nothing had changed. He was limping a little, but she doubted anybody else would really notice, and he didn't even wince slightly when he sat in his usual seat. She turned slightly to look at Madam Pomfrey, who caught her eye and shrugged helplessly before giving him a disapproving look that he completely ignored.<p>

"I thought you said he was hurt?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of bacon.

"He was. He is." Hermione shook her head and returned her attention to her toast, almost too tired to think.

She knew for a fact that half the skin on Snape's back was very new and very fragile; he was limping because his smashed knee hadn't had enough time to knit completely; if she was close enough she would be able to see his hands shaking as his nerves continued to react in the aftermath of the Cruciatus curse; and he had enough internal injuries still that she wasn't surprised to see that he was being very, very careful about what he ate. And yet, if she didn't know all that from having been there fighting to keep him alive long enough to heal him, she doubted that she would have guessed anything was wrong.

He was so strong that sometimes it frightened her. He had to be in absolute agony right now; drugs or no drugs, he was on so much medication that he couldn't take anything stronger without making himself violently ill. But it was almost as if he didn't consider it worth acknowledging; Dilys and Madam Pomfrey had both talked to her about Snape's response to pain at some length over the past two years. He knew he was in pain, and would even grudgingly admit it if you pressed him hard enough, but he didn't seem to think that it mattered and somehow managed to ignore it as though it simply wasn't relevant.

During their Defence lesson that afternoon, though, Hermione realised that in fact something _had _changed, on a deep and fundamental level. As Snape paced slowly around the room and lectured them on what they would be expected to know for their approaching end of year exam, she watched him covertly from the corner of her eye while taking notes; his whole attitude seemed subtly different. When he whirled to berate Seamus for not paying attention, she realised what it was and ducked her head to hide a grin of sheer delight; the old Snape was back with a vengeance.

This was the Professor Snape they all remembered with dread, the confident, powerful, temperamental man who had every student in the school cowed by the end of their first lesson. The force of his personality once again filled the room; even the way he moved was different, centred and sure, and his black eyes glittered with something of their old fire. He had taken up the fight again, she decided as she scribbled to his swift crisp dictation; there was none of the dead, resigned apathy he had been showing recently. It seemed that Snape had decided not to give up after all, and part of her thrilled to see it even as the rest of her concentrated on keeping her head down and not attracting his temper. After all, he was still a total bastard, she reminded herself with a small and almost fond smile. It was so good to see him back to 'normal' that she didn't even mind the fact that he hadn't so much as glanced at her all lesson.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until two days later when Phineas caught Hermione's attention as she headed back towards Gryffindor Tower after dinner, preoccupied with her Arithmancy revision and a training session with Harry and Ron later. "What's wrong?"<p>

He raised an eyebrow, disregarding the scowl he was getting from the elderly wizard whose portrait he had hijacked. "Is it always an emergency when I speak to you?"

"Not always, but most of the time," she retorted idly, relaxing – if something had been wrong, he would have said so. "So what did you want? I doubt it's the pleasure of my company."

"How well you know me," he replied mockingly. "He wants to see you."

"Really?" She couldn't quite keep the smile from her face, and Phineas snickered, although there was almost no malice in his obvious amusement.

"No, I made it up for my own entertainment. _Yes, _really. Go on with you. It cost him a lot to ask me to find you, you know. Be nice to him. He's really, really bad at this sort of thing."

"Oh, please. You're talking as if you're expecting him to go down on one knee," she replied airily, stifling a laugh at that rather odd mental image. "What does he want?"

"I don't actually know, but he's likely to make a mess of it. Apart from anything else, he's still recovering, and I am under orders from Dilys to tell you not to wear him out." The portrait gave her a truly disturbing leer, and she sputtered with laughter.

"You need help, you know that?"

"I need a hobby," he corrected her in a bored-sounding drawl. "Go and see him already. We've been forbidden to eavesdrop so Dilys will want a full report later."

"Tough luck."

* * *

><p>As ever, it was wonderfully quiet down in the dungeons, and pleasantly cool at this time of year. Hermione tapped at the door of Snape's office, amused for a moment to remember that less than two years ago she'd been petrified of coming anywhere near here; it was almost routine now.<p>

"Enter."

She let herself in and closed the door behind her, trying to restrain herself from beaming at him – given everything he had been through, he looked surprisingly well. "Good evening, sir. How are you?"

He looked very much the impatient, stern, distant and unapproachable professor, marking essays at his desk, until he snorted softly and glanced up with his black eyes glittering. "As if you need to ask. Do you imagine I don't know that I've been watched constantly for the past two days? And Poppy Pomfrey has been down here every two or three hours to make sure I am still alive. I am sure you have had regular reports."

Suppressing a smile, she approached the desk and took the chair he waved her towards. "No, actually... but I'm sure I would have heard about any problems. You didn't actually answer the question, though."

To her surprise, Snape answered honestly, instead of merely growling that he was fine. "I am as well as can be expected – better than I should be, in fact. I am still in pain, I am exhausted, and I'm eating my own bodyweight in absolute rubbish every few hours to replace the strength I burned off. Given that I should be dead or permanently crippled, I do not plan to complain." His voice was a little husky still, but nothing that anyone else would have noticed.

"I've been told not to monopolise your time."

He snorted again and returned his attention to his marking. "No doubt. Tell her to stop interfering."

"You haven't told her yourself?"

"At some length, and in fact in several languages, but it is hardly surprising that she hasn't listened."

Trying without much success to suppress another smile, Hermione nodded agreement. "What did you want to see me for, sir?"

He didn't answer straight away, scrawling something on the bottom of the essay and moving it onto another pile before pulling another one in front of him and starting to scan the opening paragraph. Without looking at her, he said quietly, "I wished to thank you. Without your actions this weekend, I would not be here now."

That caught her off guard. Snape didn't do apologies or gratitude; his voice was stiffly formal, but he sounded as though he actually meant it. "I think you're exaggerating..."

"No, I'm not. I don't remember much very clearly, but I know how close I came to death. I survived because of you."

"I just did what anyone else would have done..."

He started to laugh, and cut off almost immediately with a wince, laying a hand on his side for a moment before giving her a look of genuine amusement. "Most people would have left me to die, and we both know it." Coughing lightly into his hand, he looked back at his marking, making a note in the margin. "Why were you waiting at the gates?" he asked without looking up.

"You'd been gone too long, and... I just had a feeling that something wasn't right."

That sounded weak and stupid when she said it out loud – nobody else had asked her what she had been doing out there; there hadn't really been time to ask – but Snape seemed to consider it enough of an answer, nodding slightly as he worked. "I see. Then I am... grateful for your instincts."

He sounded almost adorably awkward, and Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile; she had to admit she sometimes liked seeing him out of his comfort zone like this and making such a fierce effort to act human. Since concern for his health gave her an excuse, she used the chance to watch his face, remembering waking up in the rather uncomfortable chair beside his bed and feeling the warmth of his hand in hers. He had been so deeply unconscious that it was almost a coma, admittedly, or he never would have done any such thing, but it was still a memory to hang on to.

Spotting the crease between his eyebrows deepening, she looked away before it annoyed him too much. "Why did it happen?" she asked softly.

It was a risky question, one she knew she wasn't supposed to ask and one he usually refused to answer. This time he only shrugged, still not looking up. "To be perfectly honest, there was no real reason. It was a combination of paranoia and carelessness, and a few people looking to settle old scores as soon as they had the opportunity." He added in an extremely dry voice, "I have to admit I am a little irritated about that."

"That seems reasonable," Hermione agreed, smiling despite herself at his tone. "Do the Order know what happened?"

"No."

She nodded, unsurprised. _Typical. _This time, though, she supposed it made sense; it was a bad idea to let anyone know he wasn't at his fighting best. After all, he was unpopular on both sides, and even though he was his own worst enemy a lot of the time she had to concede that more than half the Order wouldn't actually care. He should let Madam Pomfrey tell Dumbledore, but she doubted it would trouble the Headmaster's conscience. "Are you going to be all right?" she asked. "I don't know what side effects the Last Chance potion has. It was certainly... reactive."

"That is an understatement. I am lucky you got the dose more or less right; any more would have killed me. I did say it was dangerous. Happily, though, if you survive actually taking it, there are no side effects except extreme fatigue, and I am restoring my energy reserves as fast as my body can handle. I will heal." He paused as though about to say something else, then shook his head slightly and laid the essay aside, reaching for another one.

Hermione settled into the chair more comfortably – with some difficulty; Snape didn't encourage visitors and except for the furniture he used personally everything was deliberately designed to be uncomfortable. She wasn't sure if the conversation was over or not, but he didn't seem inclined to dismiss her, and she had missed the strangely peaceful quality of their shared silence. The awkwardness of his attempt to thank her hadn't disturbed that atmosphere.

After a while she made a decision and said quietly, "Sir, this is the last time I'm going to ask this, and if you won't answer now then I won't bother you about it any more..."

"Go on," he replied softly; it was obvious by the sound of his voice that he knew what she was going to say anyway.

"Will you tell me what you have to do at the end of this year, please?"

"Why do you wish to know?" he inquired softly as he underlined something and wrote a comment beside it.

Hermione bit her lip, considering possible answers. "Because I'm worried about you, and by extension everyone else," she told him finally. "It's obviously worse than anything I've been able to imagine. Will you tell me?"

Snape looked up slowly, his eyes narrowing a little as he finally looked directly at her for the first time since the conversation had started. He had a slightly odd expression on his face that she couldn't quite identify, but he didn't seem either annoyed or upset. "I had actually intended to tell you this weekend," he noted at last, much to her surprise; he half-smiled at her expression. "Yes, I know. Nonetheless, I had planned to."

"And now?" she asked with a sinking feeling. _He's going to be stubborn again..._

His smile grew fractionally as he once again seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, his dark eyes glittering for a moment. "No. But not for the reasons you think, so stop looking at me like that. I am not going to tell you because I intend to make sure it doesn't happen, not because I do not wish you to know."

"You're going to disobey the Headmaster? But... I thought you had made a vow..." she said hesitantly, and he shrugged a thin shoulder as though that wasn't important.

"There are almost always alternatives. I am certainly going to give it my best shot. I am going to act as I think best, for once, not as someone else has told me to." He sat back and set his quill down, lacing his fingers together and cracking his knuckles.

In all honesty, Hermione thought she would rather trust him than Dumbledore right now; she shrugged and nodded in response, which seemed to surprise him slightly. "What about the three of us? Do we play a part in your plan?"

Snape blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow and pausing for fractionally too long before replying nonchalantly, "I don't know yet."

They both looked at one another for a long moment before simultaneously looking away, breaking the quiet tension before it grew any more intense; neither of them were really ready for that yet. "I should be going," Hermione said softly after a moment. "I've got revision to do."

He snorted, giving her a wry smile and relaxing slightly. "I doubt you need it, but if you say so. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

><p><em>More fan art from the lovely <strong>RaShelli:<strong> _rashelli dot deviantart dot com /art/Chasing-the-Sun-Chapter-28-276887565

_And from **Peanut: **_gloriouspeanut dot deviantart dot com /art/Waiting-for-the-mediwitch-277280898


	30. Chapter 30

_**Very Small Prophet **wrote a fun little one-shot loosely inspired by the last__ chapter: _fanfiction dot net /s/7714745/1/Snapes_Solution

_I'm really looking forward to your reactions to this update, too..._

* * *

><p><strong>"My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you<br>I've been running round in circles in my mind  
>And it always seems that I'm following you, girl<br>'Cause you take me to the places  
>That alone I'd never find..."<strong>  
>– REO Speedwagon, 'Can't Fight This Feeling'.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus glanced briefly around his almost totally dark office out of idle habit before returning his attention to the document on the desk in front of him. He'd had it drawn up almost a year ago, but he hadn't really thought he would use it. Suppressing a sigh, he quickly scanned the neat print again, although he near enough knew it all by heart by now, just making sure it said what he wanted it to say.<p>

_I, Severus Tobias Snape, acknowledged and named godfather of Draco Lucius Malfoy, only son of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy and Narcissa Black Malfoy, do hereby renounce the right of guardianship over Draco Lucius Malfoy and formally deny the duty of godfather. _

Short and to the point, and almost shockingly brief for a legal document, and yet so much was potentially riding on these few lines. Shaking his head, Severus glanced quickly around the room again as though making sure he wasn't being watched – senseless paranoia even by his standards; there was nobody within hundreds of yards of his office, and although he was reasonably sure a portrait would be watching him, they couldn't see what he was doing from the single frame on the opposite wall. Quietly pulling a needle from his pocket and pricking the tip of one finger, he squeezed a single drop of blood onto the dotted line beside today's date before picking up his quill and signing it swiftly.

_I'm sorry, Draco. I care about you, but you've been beyond my help for a long time now; there is nothing more I can do for you or your family except try to free us all._

His dark eyes tightened for a moment as he felt the brief lick of flame around his wrists before the sensation faded away again; the Unbreakable Vow was no longer completely in force. He had sworn it on behalf of his godson, and now there was no such person. It wasn't a complete solution, the Vow was still there, but it was definitely weaker now. Just this simple act had given him a chance of surviving an attempt to disobey what he had sworn. Whatever might drag him down, it wouldn't be this.

However, he still needed an actual way out. He didn't like his chances of surviving just based on this; he needed something else to sway the odds a bit further in his favour. He'd have to sleep soon, he wasn't strong enough yet to go without rest as candidly as he used to, but before that it was time to get his Pensieve out and look again at the memory of swearing the vow in the first place. Severus wanted to make sure he remembered every single word exactly; he'd found one loophole, and where there was one, there might be more. One link broken, out of the countless chains that bound him; it was a start, at least.

* * *

><p>Hermione had to admit she was impressed with Snape's recovery; she had been present for his next check-up in the hospital wing and although he wasn't out of the woods yet, the improvement was startling. Apparently sheer stubborn bloody-mindedness could take the place of weeks of rest and medication; even Dilys hadn't quite dared ask how he was managing to heal so quickly, and she personally suspected that Snape himself wasn't really sure.<p>

The student body as a whole were less impressed, though. Professor Snape was back to his usual vicious, partisan, ruthless self; the hourglasses were shuttling House points back and forth so frequently it was a surprise that the glass hadn't cracked. With what even Hermione conceded was malicious glee, he spent every Defence lesson verbally and physically testing his students, pushing them far harder than he had done even at his worst in Potions. The number of detentions didn't increase, though; he didn't have time to oversee them. He had rejoined their training sessions on the few evenings Hermione didn't force her friends to revise, and although he didn't often participate his supervision did help.

One such training session on the last evening of May had been interrupted by a message from Dumbledore, and the three Gryffindors were now sitting in front of the Headmaster's desk, while Snape leaned against the wall with his arms folded and sneered with open insolence. Glancing sideways out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noted that Ron was studying his lap and Harry was staring at a spot on the wall behind Dumbledore, not quite meeting the old man's gaze; the atmosphere wasn't as friendly this time. Everyone seemed more suspicious, less certain and less trusting, and from the distinct lack of twinkle in the Headmaster's blue eyes, he sensed that they weren't happy with him.

"This wasn't a terribly important meeting tonight, and I am sorry for interrupting what I am certain would have been a very detailed revision session," he said genially, evidently deciding to ignore it for now; Hermione saw Snape's sneer deepen, his eyes gleaming with mockery. Dumbledore continued, "I merely wished to say that I am very close to confirming the location of one of the remaining Horcruxes. I should know for certain within a few days."

"Do you know which one it is, sir?" Harry asked the wall; he wasn't quite squirming, but he was obviously uncomfortable, evidently still confused about recent events.

"I'm afraid not."

Snape cleared his throat, his sneer fading – slightly. "Do you know which one is in Hogwarts?" he asked, and everyone turned to stare at him.

"There's one in Hogwarts?" Harry asked blankly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. What makes you say that, Severus?"

He frowned. "I thought it was obvious. He will have hidden one here. The school is too important to him for him not to have done so."

"I'm not convinced..."

Snape's lip curled. "No, well, you wouldn't be. You come from a different background." He turned and looked at Harry with a thoughtful expression. "Think about it, Potter. You can see why there must be a Horcrux here, can't you?"

Harry blinked, startled at being included, then frowned pensively as he thought about it. He nodded slowly. "I think so, yes. Yeah, he would have put one here if he could have. But when? And where? And how do we find out?"

"'When' seems easy enough," Hermione said thoughtfully – she didn't know why they were convinced that Voldemort would have chosen somewhere as obvious as Hogwarts, but they were, and that was good enough for her; she'd ask later. "When he came to apply for the Defence job, before he cursed it. He can't have seriously thought you would give him the job, Headmaster, so maybe he had another reason for coming back here."

"This is all supposition," Dumbledore said quietly. "I find it unlikely that something as powerful as a Horcrux could be concealed here without someone knowing."

"We didn't know what the diary was when it was here all year," Ron said, flushing slightly when everyone looked at him – he was never comfortable participating in these discussions, especially not now things were so tense.

"And as the Dark Lord is so fond of telling us, your senses aren't as keen as they used to be," Snape said delicately, keeping his expression impassive.

"Very well, Severus. Since you are so convinced of this, by all means, enlighten us. Where is it?" Dumbledore asked, sounding faintly irritated.

Snape shrugged, leaning back against the wall again, absently tracing his fingertip over his mouth as he thought. "I would guess either within the Chamber of Secrets, or the Room of Hidden Things," he said finally.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, echoed by Harry and Ron simultaneously.

"It's a facet of the Room of Requirement. I have only seen it once or twice – it looks like an immense warehouse filled virtually to the ceiling with everything you can imagine. You could hide anything in there and it would likely never be found. Even if you know what you are looking for, it's difficult to find it."

"I guess I need to check the Chamber of Secrets, then. Should we all go?" Harry asked, sounding somewhere between nervous and excited.

Snape shook his head. "We can't all go. Your tie to the Dark Lord allows you in. Weasley is a pureblood. Since I am Head of Slytherin I might get away with being a half-blood, but I might not. The Headmaster is pureblood, but probably not limber enough to climb through a tunnel under a sink. And there is no way that a Muggleborn would ever be allowed to set foot anywhere designed by Salazar Slytherin, at least not alive. Besides, even during exam preparation I think the students might notice our merry band all traipsing into a girl's lavatory, if Myrtle doesn't simply shout it from the rooftops. It will have to be just you and Weasley. As we seem to have a free evening, I may as well try the Room of Hidden Things."

"Can I go with you, sir?" Hermione asked instantly. He gave her his best public scowl, his eyes remaining neutral despite his furrowed brows and the stern set of his mouth, and she nearly lost it when she saw Dilys grinning at her from behind him. Keeping her laughter under control, she gave him a pleading look. "I can't go with Harry and Ron, and I want to be involved."

His lip curled. "You can't always get what you want, Miss Granger," he told her flatly, with the faintest hint of a gleam in his dark eyes.

"Take Miss Granger with you, Severus," Dumbledore commanded, and Hermione had to look down so her hair would fall forward and hide her face until she could control her expression; she could hear Phineas snickering, and Harry was muffling a suspicious cough behind his hand.

"Dumbledore..." Snape protested, sounding perfectly sincere in his objection.

"That wasn't a request. Two pairs makes more sense than you going off by yourself; besides, you may need help. The Room of Hidden Things is rather extensive."

"_Help?_" he repeated, his voice dripping scorn that Hermione knew was aimed at Dumbledore rather than her; Harry coughed again.

"Enough. If we are going to do this, let us be about it. Sadly, as Professor Snape kindly pointed out, I will be fairly noticeable if I go wandering, so I shall have to remain here."

"What am I looking for, sir?" Harry asked, swallowing his 'coughing fit' and clearing his expression.

"If there is a Horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets, it will be something that belonged to Salazar Slytherin," Snape told him. "It would appeal to the Dark Lord's odd notion of poetry; he wouldn't have put anything else in there. Look for something that does not belong; you can use the Verdimilious Charm to check for anything that has been enchanted to look harmless, but I doubt he would have bothered to conceal something he believed only he could get to. It will have Slytherin's name on it, or at least his initials."

"He has the same initials as you, Professor," Ron noted, and flushed again when everyone looked at him. "What? I just thought that was interesting."

Snape raised an eyebrow and gave him a withering look before turning away. "I have no idea what artefacts of Slytherin have survived, so I can't tell you much more than that. You handled the diary, so you know you are unlikely to sense much from it, but your senses have developed since your second year and you will be expecting to sense something."

"It wasn't the basilisk, was it?" Harry asked. "I mean, Nagini is one, so we know they can be animals..."

"No. He woke the basilisk, but he did not create it; Nagini is his familiar, not just a mere animal. I doubt he would trust two living things. Besides, only one Horcrux would be active at once, and at that time it was the diary."

Harry nodded. "If we find it, what do we do with it? Is it dangerous? The diary wasn't..."

"Stab it with another fang?" Ron suggested.

"Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said gently, "the explosion when Harry did that to the diary nearly knocked him out and seriously threatened much of the castle's foundations. I would prefer it if you brought anything you find up here to me, where we can destroy it safely. Do not touch it with your bare hands if you can help it and handle it as little as possible, but you should not be at risk."

"What if it's in the Room of Hidden Things?" Hermione asked.

"I can destroy it without causing an explosion," Snape said quietly. "I do not think it is a good idea to risk bringing it into the castle proper unless there is no other choice."

He and Dumbledore locked gazes for a moment, unmistakeably challenging and with an undercurrent that Hermione didn't entirely understand that looked like a warning, before the Headmaster sighed. "As you wish, Severus. Just be careful, all of you."

* * *

><p>Hermione stood with Harry and Ron for a moment outside Dumbledore's office; the boys were grinning, mirroring her own excitement. "I never realised Snape had a sense of humour before," Harry noted. "It's not often anyone else manipulates Dumbledore, is it?"<p>

"I don't know what you're talking about. Obviously neither I nor Professor Snape are pleased about this. Now shut up and listen – please be careful. Just once, try to do something in the war that doesn't end with injuries. For sheer novelty value, if nothing else. I'm not going to be there to nag you, remember," she added, and they shared a laugh. "Oh, one other thing..."

"Hermione, we're not children any more..."

"You still are, actually, mate," Ron pointed out cheerfully. "It's okay, I'm of age, I'll look after you."

"God help us all," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted you to take a quick look at the basilisk corpse and let me know what condition it's in, if that's okay."

Harry stared at her. "Uh, why? It's a big, creepy dead snake. It's probably rotted away by now anyway – although I guess it might not have, it's pretty cold down there. But why?"

She grinned sheepishly and lowered her voice. "I know someone who would probably give a couple of limbs for certain basilisk parts. They're very, very rare Potions ingredients, you know." Both of them burst out laughing, and after a moment she joined in. "Oh, shut up. Please?"

"Yeah, okay, I'll take a look. It's not like it's going to be hard to miss. I'm not bringing any dead bits back with me, though. That'll have to wait."

"Fair enough."

"If you are quite finished?" Snape called acidly from further down the corridor. "Let us get this school trip over with."

"Last one to find a Horcrux is a rotten egg," Ron said under his breath.

* * *

><p>Hermione caught up with Snape's long strides as they walked quickly through the silent corridors, glancing up at him. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes narrowed slightly in the way she recognised as meaning he was thinking hard about something. "Are you sure about this?" she asked softly.<p>

"That there is a Horcrux in the castle? Yes. He will have put one here."

"How do you know?"

"Guess. Why would I be certain that the Dark Lord would think the castle important enough? Why would Mr Potter agree? And why would Dumbledore not understand why we were so certain? Think about what you know of all three of us and how we differ from the Headmaster."

Biting her lip absently, she thought about it as they kept walking. "Oh," she said finally, understanding slowly dawning. Harry saw Hogwarts as his home, and the house where he actually lived as just a stopping place. Tom Riddle had asked to be permitted to stay at school over the summer rather than return to the Muggle orphanage. And Snape had apparently been abused outside school. For boys with no family, or at least no loving family, Hogwarts became all-important. "I see."

He glanced down at her for a moment, something flickering through his eyes before his face turned impassive once more. "Yes, you do." He added after a moment, "You aren't so very different."

She nodded silently; it wasn't the same situation, she had a loving home waiting for her and family who loved her – well, usually she did, although they weren't there right now – but she belonged at Hogwarts more than she did in the Muggle world. "It's strange that the Headmaster wouldn't feel the same way about the school," she mused.

"Yes. It is." Snape's voice was clipped and quiet, but the faint anger in his eyes wasn't directed at her and after a moment he relaxed again, letting her ask more questions.

"What do we do if it's not in the Chamber or the Room?"

"We ask the ghosts, the house elves, the portraits. One of them might know something. If all else fails, we ask the castle itself." He looked down at her again. "Hogwarts is aware of far more than most people realise, although it cannot communicate very easily."

"I know." He raised an eyebrow, and she explained softly, "Last week. I shouldn't have been able to open the gates to get you, but I did. I didn't think about it until afterwards, but the gates are warded against anyone who isn't a teacher."

Snape nodded. "That would explain it, yes. I shouldn't think you have ever had to wait for a staircase when travelling to and from the hospital wing, either, have you?"

"No."

"There you are, then. But I am certain it will be in one of these two places."

"You said it would be something of Slytherin's if it was in the Chamber. What if it's up here? Which one will it be? We don't know what they all are."

"We know it's not Nagini, or the diary, or Gaunt's ring. If it's not in the Chamber it won't be Slytherin's; he wouldn't keep that anywhere else within Hogwarts, it will be elsewhere if it's not in the Chamber. I don't believe he would have used a relic of Gryffindor's if he could avoid it. That leaves something belonging to Hufflepuff or to Ravenclaw."

"Maybe both?" she suggested. "He might have left two in the castle. I know it seems risky on the surface, but not if nobody else is looking, and nobody else can get into the Chamber of Secrets, can they?"

"Not as far as I know. It's possible, I suppose, but I don't think so. Here we are..." Snape held up a hand to stop her and slowly paced back and forth in front of the innocently empty stretch of wall, concentrating. The door appeared, and he half-bowed somewhat mockingly to her. "Ladies first."

Stifling a laugh, she gave him a half-hearted glare and opened the door, venturing inside and staring. "Wow."

He followed and closed the door behind him. "Dumbledore did say it was rather extensive," he noted dryly.

Hermione continued to stare. The room looked, at a rough guess, twice the size of an industrial warehouse, and it was filled almost to the ceiling with... well, everything. Furniture seemed to form the bulk of it, but there were plenty of smaller things – books, lamps, statues, jewellery, rolled-up carpets, stacks of loose paper, animal cages and tanks, crates and boxes and chests of all sizes...

"How are we supposed to find _anything_ in this?"

* * *

><p>The frustration in her voice almost made Severus smile. "If finding Horcruxes was easy, Dumbledore wouldn't need any help," he pointed out mildly, looking around.<p>

"But we don't even know what we're looking for. It will take years to search all this."

"Will it? Remember where we are."

"We can ask the Room?"

"I think so, yes. I don't know how accurately it will be able to guide us, but it should at least be able to give us a rough idea."

She nodded slowly, her expression turning thoughtful as she scanned what was literally centuries' worth of clutter. "How did you find out about this place?"

He felt a little sheepish at the memory, smiling ruefully. "I happened to come into possession of something that did not technically belong to me, and I needed to hide it rather quickly. I had known about the Room of Requirement since my second year – I stumbled upon it by accident one night. I asked the Room for somewhere to dispose of my ill-gotten gains, and it showed me this."

Hermione glanced up at him, her eyes dancing with quiet laughter. "What did you steal, and who from?"

"None of your business," he replied easily, smirking a little. It was the only time he had ever successfully managed to frame the Marauders for a stunt, rather than them framing him, and he was simultaneously both proud and slightly embarrassed. It had been childish, yes... but it had also been extremely funny. And Minerva never had found out what had happened to the contents of all three bookshelves in her office, or her favourite hat.

"How will we know what the Horcrux is?"

Severus suppressed another smile; nobody else could jump so easily from topic to topic with a never-ending stream of questions about everything under the sun. Not all that long ago it had seriously irritated him, but that seemed hard to remember now. "I don't know."

"You don't?"

He gave her an amused look. "Surprisingly enough, I do not in fact know much about such a twisted form of Dark magic," he told her sarcastically, privately enjoying her faint and quickly-suppressed blush.

"I didn't mean it like that..."

"I know you didn't. The fact remains that I have never made a Horcrux, or encountered one. Hopefully one of us will be able to sense it. Otherwise we may be here some time. Now, if you can manage to restrain yourself, stop asking questions for a minute and let me concentrate." Pacing to the wall, he laid a hand against the stone and closed his eyes, concentrating. _If there is a Horcrux in here, I need to find it... _He was only partly relying on the Room of Requirement, though. A Horcrux would contain a tie to the Dark Lord, and he had something similar on his arm, after all, as well as being more in tune with his instincts than most people.

Breathing slowly and deeply, he opened his eyes just enough to see where he was going, letting his senses expand. Hermione's magic virtually glowed, warm and bright; he heard her draw in a breath to say something and lifted a finger to his lips. She stayed silent and he looked away from her, slowly walking forward, prowling between the piles of junk as she followed him as quietly as possible.

Yes, it was here somewhere, he could feel it. Maybe it was imagination, or just the Room projecting, but he could sense something, making the skin on his left forearm tingle and little shivers run down his spine. Oh, yes; he certainly knew the feel of the Dark Lord's magic by now, a crawling, insidious heat as foul as an infected wound. His head turned from side to side, trying to narrow it down; turning abruptly into a narrow gap between a large cabinet and a stack of chairs, he paused, looking around.

"Somewhere here," he said softly. "It's close."

Hermione brushed past him and looked around. "Um, give me a clue?"

Biting back a laugh, Severus shook his head, making an effort to snap out of it. "I don't know. Look around this general area for something that doesn't look like junk."

* * *

><p>He was digging through the somewhat dusty contents of a desk drawer and trying not to sneeze when she said hesitantly, "I might have found something."<p>

Severus looked up, trying to see where she was. "What is it?"

"It looks like a diamond tiara. I assume that's not junk."

"Probably not," he agreed, following her voice around a tall shelf. When he saw her, she pointed to a table; there was a rather ugly marble bust, so weathered he wasn't sure if it was male or female, and a suspiciously sparkly circlet of metal and gems.

"Technically, it's a diadem, not a tiara," he noted distantly, before realising what he had just said. "Don't ask how I know that. In fact, unless I am very much mistaken, it's the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw."

"I guess it's not lost after all," she replied dryly; somehow he wasn't surprised that she had heard of it. "Can we tell Professor Flitwick later? He'd love to know about this."

"I'm sure he would. Unfortunately for him, I don't think it's going to be in very good shape when we're finished with it." Covering his hand with the sleeve of his robe, just in case, he carefully picked the diadem up and carried it over towards the door, away from the furniture and other junk, putting it down on a clear bit of floor and hunkering down to look at it.

Hermione crouched opposite him, pushing her hair back from her face. "This is it?"

"You tell me. What can you feel? We already know you can differentiate between magics. Can you sense anything?"

She reached out hesitantly to hold a hand above it, biting her lip fiercely as she concentrated. After a moment she shivered and withdrew her hand, looking up at him uncertainly. "I'm not sure. There might be something, but I might be imagining it..."

"It's not strong. Nobody spotted what the diary was, after all. But this is definitely a Horcrux." He stared down at the innocently sparkling diamonds, trying to get his mind around the concept that this was a piece of his master's soul.

"How do we destroy it?"

Severus glanced up in momentary amusement, arching an eyebrow. "_We _don't."

She actually looked disappointed; you had to admire her determination to do everything. "I suppose not. How does one destroy it, then?" she asked sarcastically, and he tried not to smile. _Impossible girl._

"Not much can destroy something that powerful. I am all out of vorpal swords, sadly," he commented, and saw her grin at the Jabberwocky reference. "I am going to use Fiendfyre. I imagine you've read about it already?"

"A little," she replied primly, sitting back on her heels and evidently ignoring his mockery. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Yes," he admitted candidly. "But I know what I am doing. Trust me."

He'd said it automatically, without thinking, and he certainly wasn't expecting Hermione to shrug and reply calmly, "I do trust you. Should I get out of the way?"

Blinking slowly at her, he shook it off after a moment and nodded, standing up with a wince as his knee cracked in protest. "Yes, keep back. I have no idea what happens when you destroy one of these things. For all I know, it might explode even though it isn't active; be ready with a Shield Charm just in case."

Staring down at the diadem, he exhaled slowly, letting the cool dark water of his mental defences calm his mind and clear his thoughts with the ease of long practice. This, then, was one seventh of his master's soul? The Dark Lord grew a little weaker and a little less stable with every piece that was destroyed. Severus took a moment to think about why he was doing this, about everything Voldemort had ever done to him personally and to countless others, about what he knew of how Tom Riddle had become Voldemort in the first place, then cleared his mind once more. When he was ready, he drew a deep breath, held it for a moment as he drew his wand, then whispered the incantation.

God, he'd forgotten how this felt! Heat spread through him and coiled in his stomach, and the world slowed down as his senses leaped to life. Every sound was magnified until the steady pounding of his heart was as loud as a drum beat and his breathing sounded like distant surf. All the subtle scents in the room became much stronger, from the musty smell of dust and the lingering potions smells that clung to his robes to his soap and the distinctive scent of Hermione's perfume or shampoo or whatever it was that smelled of apricots. The strange light in the Room of Requirement seemed suddenly too bright, and the slender threads of flame emerging from the tip of his wand glowed so brightly he couldn't look at them directly as the coiling power in his belly flowed upwards and along his arm, through the wand and arching across the small space to slowly wrap around the diadem on the floor.

His heart began to race as sweat broke out down his spine, and there was a momentary pressure in his head as his Occlumency defences intensified to cope with the sudden flood of feeling. This was why Fiendfyre was dangerous; it fed on the caster's emotions, and he was repressing so much that some of it began to bleed through, rage and stubbornness and lust and grief and hate and pain and triumph, all tangling together as the fiery ropes grew brighter. Dragging in a ragged, gasping breath, he steadied himself, regaining a rather precarious balance. _That's it... control it... _There was nothing here that wasn't in his control. It was all from his own head, and he was the strongest Occlumens he had ever heard of. His dark mental ocean was filled with strange currents and waves, but it was holding.

Beginning to breathe harder now, he watched the whirling flames curling around the diadem, licking across the metal and gems as his body reacted to the power streaming through him. He hadn't done anything this intense, this dangerous, in years. Licking dry lips, he fought to maintain his balance as the storm raged through him, channelling it all carefully into the thin lines of white-hot fire as the metal began to heat up.

"Are you all right?" Hermione's voice rang like a bell, shivering with odd harmonics in his current state of heightened awareness; she had moved closer, but mercifully not too close. A slip now could well kill them both; if the Fiendfyre got away from his control, it would burn until there was nothing left to burn, fuelled by too many years of suppressed emotions.

"Yes," he answered distantly, his own voice sounding deeper than usual and humming oddly in his ears. "Don't distract me." He could all but feel her biting her lip and for a moment almost started laughing as his temperature spiked and the fire grew brighter still.

The diadem was beginning to glow now as the metal grew hot, and Severus stared intently at it as the air around it shimmered with heat. This was a piece of the Dark Lord's soul, and it was going to die tonight. _Burn, you snake-faced bastard, burn! _Hatred flared briefly again in the maelstrom inside his head, flowing out into the fire. _Burn!_ The delicate shape began to warp, the stone beneath it blackened and starting to crack as the now glowing metal began to melt and flow, and an ugly surge of fierce exultation filled him as he stared at the flames without blinking.

The room itself was heating up now, and a moment later one of the glittering gems popped and shattered with a hiss of flame. Magic surged; he heard Hermione gasp, distantly, as the Fiendfyre roared higher for a moment. _Yes! _He bared his teeth in a silent snarl of triumph. _Burn, motherfucker! _For a moment the fire burned beyond white-hot, and it was impossible to draw a breath as it became an inferno; his ears popped, then a breeze stirred the smoke and the flames began to die down.

* * *

><p>The echoing silence was deafening, as the fire died away to nothing and they stood staring at one another in the dimness. Vaguely Hermione was aware in her peripheral vision that the Room of Requirement had shifted again; now that they had found what they sought, the – what had he called it? – the Room of Hidden Things had faded away and they now stood somewhere quiet and empty, but she only had eyes for Snape. He was staring through her, rather than at her; his dark eyes were too wide and his right hand was pressed to his left forearm so tightly that his knuckles were white, but he didn't look like he was in pain.<p>

"Did you... feel it?" she asked uncertainly – if the Death Eaters could sense it when the Horcruxes were destroyed, they were all in a hell of a lot of trouble.

He blinked slowly, seeming to come back to the real world, and his grip on his arm loosened as his eyes came back into focus and his gaze met hers. "Not physically," he replied softly, "but..." He shook his head, his lips quirking at one side into the half-smile she valued. "Damn me if I'm not starting to think we might actually win." Shivering, he rubbed his arm briefly and let go. "I haven't used Fiendfyre in a long while," he added absently. "It is not easy to keep control."

She glanced briefly at the ground, where the strip of battered and half-melted metal still smoked, unrecognisable as anything at all now. "It _is _destroyed, isn't it?" she asked, looking back up at him.

He nodded. "Yes," he said simply.

They continued to look at one another for a few moments, trying to absorb the fact that they had just destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul, that they had basically started to kill him. Hermione supposed they should pick up what was left of the Horcrux and take it back to Dumbledore and the boys, but she was in no hurry to touch the thing and appreciated this chance to catch her breath and absorb what had just happened.

Only, for some reason, catching her breath didn't seem to be very easy. It was suddenly difficult to breathe once more, only not because of magic this time; the tension in the air didn't have such a straightforward source. It was dawning on Hermione that this was the first time she had been alone with Snape when he hadn't been either bleeding to death, dangerously depressed or quite ill in a very long time, since their runs had stopped, and now he was staring directly into her eyes from closer to her than he had been before, close enough to feel the warmth of his body – she could have touched his robe had she moved her hand even slightly. Despite the intensity of his gaze, there was no weight of Legilimency behind it, just the force of his personality, but that was enough to have her unconsciously licking suddenly dry lips as she stared back at him.

His pupils dilated ever so slightly; it was as if she saw a slender trembling thread in the dark depths of his eyes snap, before two small black sparks kindled and began to burn. The atmosphere was suddenly thick enough to choke on, charged with electricity that had nothing to do with magic, and she barely had time to shiver in sudden stunned realisation before her back hit the wall she had forgotten was there and his mouth came down on hers.

Her first kiss had been Viktor, in fourth year, as had a lot of subsequent kisses – they hadn't gone further than that, but still, she had spent a fair amount of time with him. She had been out with a Muggle boy who lived just down the road from her once or twice in the summer holidays, trying to forget the war and have a normal life just for a week or two. And the less said about her disastrous 'date' with Cormac, the better. But none of them had felt anything like this.

His arms were braced against the stone on either side of her, effectively trapping her – if she had had any intention of trying to move, which she didn't. She knew that his body temperature was usually a degree or so below normal, leaving his skin cool to the touch, but right now his slender frame was burning as his body pinned hers against the wall, all sharp angles and bones overlaid by lean sinewy muscles that made him stronger than he seemed, and his mouth... his mouth was scorching her, as his tongue slid along the seam of her lips and she opened to him eagerly, closing her eyes. This close, his scent was almost overwhelming, the complex scent of rain, minerals and herbs touched with familiar notes of copper and smoke and something that was just _him, _and now she could taste him as well, as his tongue entered her mouth and the kiss deepened; he tasted of something dark and bittersweet and smoky that made it even more difficult to think.

She was vaguely aware of sensations; the solid stone wall against her back was probably the only thing keeping her standing at this point. One hand was digging into his shoulder, feeling the deceptive strength in him, and her other hand was tangled in his hair, grease and all, as she arched against him. They broke apart for a split second, just long enough for her to draw in a ragged breath and whisper daringly, "Severus..."

It was the first time she had ever said his Christian name aloud, and although the syllables sounded breathless and uneven it made him shudder as their mouths met once more and she began to kiss him back, tentatively beginning to explore his mouth in return. A shiver ran through him and he shifted even closer, and she drew in a sharp breath as she felt the unmistakeable hardness of his erection pushing against her, barely hesitating before tilting her hips to press against him in response as more of her brain dissolved into mush.

She had never felt anything like this before; now for the first time she started to understand all the silly clichés she'd read about in the trashy novels and magazines that Lavender and Parvati left lying around. She couldn't get close enough to the heat of his body, and he was kissing her as though he intended to devour her. Months of tension had been leading to this, and she'd spent so long trying to decipher his feelings without ever really being totally sure how he felt about her, and now relief mingled with desire as she yielded to the fierce hunger in their kiss.

After what seemed like years, Snape – no, _Severus _– gentled the kiss, slowly drawing it to a close and pulling away as she opened her eyes, backing off a couple of paces and staring at her. His lips were slightly parted, there was a faint flush in his pale cheeks, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed a little raggedly; his dark eyes were still burning, but his overall expression was neutral bordering on slightly dazed. Licking her lips, she stared back at him uncertainly, trying to catch her breath and remember how to stand up without the wall's support.

Several times he seemed on the verge of speaking. Finally he sighed and relaxed a little, looking away from her briefly and glancing back. "I don't think I should have done that," he observed quietly, with a slight huskiness to his voice that she had never heard before that sent shivers down her back. If anything, he sounded a little rueful; he certainly didn't seem horrified, appalled or disgusted, although there was a faint trace of almost embarrassment in his face and she would wager the entire contents of Gringotts that he was nowhere near as calm and controlled as he seemed.

Still a little breathless, Hermione had to swallow before she could answer him. "No, you probably shouldn't," she agreed as matter-of-factly as she could manage. Whatever the circumstances, she was only seventeen years old, and he was her not very attractive bastard of a teacher, and twenty years her senior, and they had a war to fight; she had thought of all these reasons a long time ago. Only, looking at him now with his eyes burning into hers and her lips still tingling from his urgent, fierce kiss, none of that really seemed important, especially when she remembered feeling his obvious arousal pressed against her – his robes hid a multitude of sins, it seemed. "You're not going to try and apologise, are you?" she asked uncertainly.

They looked at one another, calming down now, that fire in his gaze slowly cooling as they both regained their breath, although the intensity in his eyes didn't lessen. Finally, he sighed again and relaxed properly, his eyes half closing as he moved back another couple of paces. "No, I'm not going to apologise, because I do not feel the slightest bit apologetic; I am not remotely sorry," he told her quietly. "But... we have so little time. It is only a month until the end of term, and..." He shrugged and looked back at her, and without that wondrous hunger in his eyes she could see his own uncertainty.

"I know." And she did; she didn't believe in his inevitable death as strongly as he had done for so long, but whatever was going to happen at the end of this year, it was going to be bad. They had destroyed one more Horcrux tonight, but there were still three more to go, and then there was the small matter of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Severus was still one of them, at least for a little while longer, and he was right on the edge of his limits both physically and mentally, and she too was stressed and tired. It was the very worst time to be introducing this sort of emotional confusion. She looked at the floor and the scorch marks surrounding what remained of the Horcrux. "...I suppose we should get back to the others."

"Hermione," he said quietly, and she looked up, startled at his use of her first name and suppressing a shiver at the sound of his voice. He looked troubled, but his eyes met hers without wavering. "This isn't over. I – I don't know what's going to happen, but..."

Reassured that at least he was trying, she smiled a bit shakily at him. "Don't start telling me comforting lies now. I always liked that you were honest with me. We – we'll wait and see what happens."

He didn't look pleased at being let off the hook, but he nodded slowly, his gaze searching hers for a long moment before he finally looked away. "Well, then," he said awkwardly, turning his attention to the melted remains of the diadem lying on the floor. Kneeling, a little stiffly, he held a hand out palm-down above it and concentrated for a moment before fishing his handkerchief out of his pocket and using it to pick up the distorted metal, standing slowly. He wasn't looking at her any more; suppressing a sigh, she turned and headed for the door, resolutely not looking at whatever the Room of Requirement might have created from whoever's thoughts had been the stronger.

"Hermione," he said again, his voice still very quiet. Despite herself, she turned and found him standing very close behind her. His harsh features were as expressionless as ever, but his eyes softened fractionally before he reached out and touched her cheek gently, trailing his fingertips down over her skin; as she shivered, he stepped closer, tipping her chin up a little and lowering his head. This second kiss was much gentler, over far sooner, almost but not quite chaste; he stared down at her for a long moment after he had drawn away, before repeating firmly, "This isn't over." Holding her gaze for a moment longer, he took a breath and straightened, drawing Professor Snape's mask back into place and striding past her to open the door. "However, right now, we need to leave, before I do something we will both regret."

Despite herself, she smiled a little. "How do you know I'd regret it?" she asked as she followed him, savouring the taste of his mouth still. He was right – if he had kissed her again the way he had that first time, she doubted anything could have stopped her falling into bed with him, but she would have regretted it afterwards, because she certainly wasn't ready for that – but still...

He almost laughed, shaking his head. "I've met your parents, if you recall. You were brought up better than that. Come along."

* * *

><p>The walk back to the Headmaster's office wasn't really all that long, but it seemed to take a very long time, and the tension was thick enough to choke on. Hermione was pleased to find that she knew him well enough to see that he was trying not to panic, or she might have taken it personally. Her own panic was probably going to hit soon, but right now she felt fairly numb; it was quite hard to believe it had just happened, let alone actually think about it.<p>

She had known that something would have to give sooner or later, now that they both seemed at least vaguely sure that the other one felt something. It had been insubstantial and undefined, but there had been something between them for a while now, and it had surely only been a matter of time before something happened, but somehow she hadn't quite imagined this. Another reason for her lack of panic was her distraction, she suspected; Occlumency or not, she kept reliving the kiss, and if she couldn't sort herself out she was going to walk into a wall or something.

From his reaction, he clearly hadn't actually intended to kiss her, she suspected as they headed back through the corridors. That was probably the Fiendfyre; everything she had read about it had warned that it fed the caster's emotions, which was why it was so difficult to control. And certainly his expression as he watched the diadem burning hadn't been terribly rational. It made sense – he wasn't the impulsive type, and although she doubted he really cared about the regulations any more she still didn't think he would have so completely disregarded the rules if he'd been thinking straight. He didn't seem to be regretting it, but he clearly wasn't sure what happened next, and nor was she.

_Well, it was never going to be easy, was it? _she mused idly as they approached the gargoyle guarding the staircase to the Headmaster's office. One thing at a time; get this Horcrux dealt with, and survive the end of term intact. Away from the school, it would be easier to talk, when they weren't surrounded by constant reminders of their different stations and when things would hopefully be a little quieter. It would give them both time to calm down, too, and work out what they felt.

She was jerked out of another brief reverie by someone calling her name, and looked up to see Harry and Ron jogging towards them, both a little dishevelled and grubby and looking thoroughly fed up. "No luck, then?" she asked, relieved that her voice sounded normal, sneaking a quick glance at her companion; he gave the boys a distracted scowl and returned to staring into the distance.

"No," Harry said grumpily as they joined the two of them. "Just rocks and water and bits of snake."

"And cobwebs," Ron said with a shudder, pawing at his hair. "What about you?"

Biting her lip for a moment to control herself, Hermione replied as casually as she could, "Oh, yes, we found and destroyed it already."

"_What_?"

"Not here," Severus said curtly, apparently returning to the real world; his eyes were visibly Occluded. He glared at the gargoyle blocking the way and said sourly, "Pepper Imps," before sweeping past and up the stairs.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry whispered.

"Nothing. Come on, if you want to hear what happened."

They followed him into Dumbledore's office and the Headmaster looked up sharply enough that he clearly wasn't as blasé as he seemed. "Well?"

Severus pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and unceremoniously shook it open, sending the battered and warped lump of metal thudding to the desk; one of the blackened gems popped out of its setting and cracked in half as it rolled away. They all stared wordlessly at it for a moment before Dumbledore reached out with his good hand and touched it hesitantly. "You're certain?"

He nodded. "The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw was a Horcrux. And now it isn't."

Harry and Ron crowded in for a closer look. "What did you do to it?"

"I would have thought it obvious that I burned it," he said shortly. "If I may be excused, Headmaster? I will give you a full report in the morning."

Dumbledore frowned at him. "As you wish, Severus..." After he had gone, the Headmaster looked around at Hermione. "Miss Granger, is everything all right?"

She went for wide-eyed innocent, on the basis that Dumbledore didn't really know her and wouldn't realise that it was a load of rubbish. "I'm not sure, sir. Professor Snape used Fiendfyre to destroy the Horcrux, and he seemed a little shaken afterwards..." _That's the understatement of the century... _She managed not to either blush or giggle, but it was an embarrassingly close thing.

"Ah. That would certainly explain it. Very well, then." He smiled and looked at the three of them. "I'm sure Miss Granger can provide a full explanation of tonight's events. I will study this for the next few hours and if there is anything to add, I shall speak with you after I have discussed it with Professor Snape tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

* * *

><p><em>Next chapter, we'll see how they both react to this, although they won't have much time to think about it...<br>_


	31. Chapter 31

_Well, last chapter smashed the previous record for most reviews. I wonder why :P I got several declarations of love, a proposal, and entirely too many 'heat of the moment' puns. Shame on you._

_Happy 52nd birthday, Severus. I hope you like the alternate lives your fans create for you.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"If you're not the one then why does my soul feel glad today?<br>If you're not the one then why does my hand fit yours this way?  
>If you are not mine then why does your heart return my call?<br>If you are not mine would I have the strength to stand at all?  
>I never know what the future brings<br>But I know you are here with me now  
>We'll make it through..."<strong>  
>– Daniel Bedingfield, 'If You're Not The One'.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus walked to the dungeons in a complete daze, unashamedly making a run for it; right now he needed a very cold shower. He also wanted a drink, but that wasn't really an option. He was trying not to think about what had just happened, but with limited success; if it wasn't for the fact that his brain seemed to have melted in a few important places, he wouldn't be able to clear his mind at all. If he was Summoned now, he was dead, but that didn't even occur to him; mostly he was very confused, and painfully aroused, and slightly terrified.<p>

That had been... well, he didn't want to call it a mistake, as such, but it had certainly been a very bad idea. Despite all his brave resolutions about finding another way and giving himself time to explore whether there really was anything between them, he had never intended to approach her in any way while she was still his student – he certainly hadn't planned to pin her against the wall and kiss her senseless. The Fiendfyre had stirred up his emotions and weakened his self control, certainly, but he couldn't blame it completely – he had wanted to do that for a very long time now.

He stood in the bathroom and stared rather numbly at his reflection; he looked somewhat shocked, although it was doubtful that anyone else would have spotted it. Shocked was an understatement, he told himself distantly, licking his lips again – he could still taste her mouth on his, and his eyes glazed for a moment as he shivered with the force of the sensory memory, remembering the way she had whispered his name. It had been a hell of a lot better than any kiss he remembered, although there hadn't exactly been many; better than any of his tangled fantasies, too.

Blinking slowly, he tried to be analytical; he had never allowed himself to speculate in any detail about her private life in case he killed someone, but now... he hadn't been her first kiss, certainly – well, he knew that, he'd seen that oaf McLaggen mauling her before Christmas – which was actually something of a relief since he wasn't sure he could be gentle enough, but he didn't think she had gone further. She had been caught off guard by his arousal – so had he, come to that; he'd hardened so fast it was a miracle he hadn't fainted – so it seemed she might still be a virgin. He couldn't decide if that pleased him or worried him.

Not, of course, that it was likely to be a concern. It had been one kiss – well, two. Unbelievably good though it had been, at least for him, that was all it was. It was an encouraging sign that she hadn't looked appalled, disgusted, furious or terrified, and that she had kissed him back, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The world was going to hell, but if he did somehow find a way out of the snare that was growing tighter by the day, she still had a year of schooling ahead. He wasn't sure he was strong enough to wait another year, not now. If he hadn't weakened tonight, he might have managed it, but with the taste and feel of her mouth in his memory... no chance. Whatever dwindling moral code he had still possessed had died a tragic death an hour ago. Whether they continued as pupil and teacher or not, he'd have her sooner or later.

Except for the fact that he was likely to be dead by next month. Sobering as the thought was, even that couldn't kill his arousal right now; gritting his teeth, he sighed, stripped off and got in the shower, switching the water as cold as it would go and trying not to whimper as his body protested. A small treacherous voice in the back of his mind was pointing out darkly that if he was indeed going to die, then why not take her while he had the chance? It wouldn't matter after he was dead. And she had been willing, if shocked; once she had recovered from the initial surprise, she had kissed him back. It wouldn't take that much to make her his.

_Don't be stupid. _He shook his head and looked down at himself sardonically; thin, ageing, scarred, unattractive. Hormones did not make a girl truly willing; most seventeen year olds would shag anything. Afterwards, she would probably regret it, regardless of whether he survived to see it or not, because she certainly wasn't ready for that yet. He wouldn't do that to her.

So, where did this leave him? He had already known that he wanted her, for a variety of reasons that were only partly physical. Apparently she wanted him, or at least didn't object to him wanting her, which was surely a more accurate interpretation. It didn't change the facts. She was twenty years his junior, she was his pupil, and everyone who knew them both would be after his blood if they had any idea of what had just happened. She wasn't likely to tell anyone, and he certainly wouldn't, but this couldn't be kept a secret indefinitely. If he survived the end of the year, he couldn't just pretend it hadn't happened and go back to the way things had been before; his willpower was almost superhuman, but even he had limits.

What had she said? _We'll wait and see what happens. _Presumably that meant that if they both made it through the coming firestorm, they would have to talk about it. All men were bad at talking about their feelings, and he knew he was worse than most; he'd make a complete hash of it, but he would try, since he didn't have anything to lose. Maybe by then he might have some idea of what exactly he was feeling, but he wasn't hopeful. He had no idea what she wanted to happen, and he refused to let himself think about what he wanted. _Wait and see. _And in the meantime, give himself hypothermia, because that seemed to be the only way to cool his blood right now.

Hermione really was going to be the death of him, he decided ruefully, utterly confused still.

* * *

><p>Hermione headed back towards Gryffindor Tower with the boys in a very thoughtful frame of mind, only half listening as they pelted her with questions. She told them about the diadem in more detail, describing the Fiendfyre, but she certainly wasn't giving them her full attention, although she did at least manage to avoid walking into a wall.<p>

"What else happened?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes, as they took their usual chairs in the empty common room and prudently cast _Muffliato _around themselves.

"Hmm?"

"What else happened?" he repeated. "You're really out of it." He waved a hand in front of her eyes and she gave him an irritated look.

"I'm fine."

"That's nice to know, but it's not what I asked," he pointed out.

"Was it Snape?" Ron asked. "You don't look like you normally do when you've had a fight with him, but..." His eyes widened. "Oh, Merlin. Is that it?"

"Is what it? What are you talking about, Ron?" she snapped, wishing they would both go to bed and leave her to sort out her tangled thoughts and happily relive the recent memory in peace.

"You and Snape. Something's happened."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're blushing," Harry said in a shocked voice; he was grinning. "You've got to tell us now." He hesitated and started to go red himself. "Well, not if it was..."

"Oh, God, Harry! We were gone for about half an hour, most of which was spent finding and destroying a Horcrux," she snapped at him. "Get your mind out of the gutter. No, I wasn't shagging a teacher."

Ron broke the startled silence. "Well, something definitely happened," he said matter-of-factly, "because you'd never say anything like that if you were your normal self. Did you snog him?"

She could feel that she was blushing now and hated herself, and them. Harry said, slightly more gently, "Come on, Hermione. You're acting strange. If you don't tell us, we're going to worry. What happened?"

"He – he kissed me, if you must know," she mumbled, staring at the rug; she hadn't wanted to talk about it just yet, not when it was still so new. Her lips still tingled with the memory.

Ron sat back with a low whistle, and he and Harry exchanged looks. "Guess you were right. I'm glad we didn't bet, now."

"_What?_" Hermione hissed, looking up furiously.

They looked sheepish before Harry explained. "We were trying to decide which of you would snap first. Ron thought it would be you, and I thought it would be him."

"You – you..."

"We weren't trying to be nasty, 'Mione. Honest. You've got to admit this whole situation is a bit weird; ever since you told us you liked him, we've been talking about it. Mostly trying to work out why," he admitted wryly. "And once we started to think maybe he liked you too, we were trying to guess what might happen."

"I hate you both."

"Nothing new there," Ron said cheerfully. "So how was it?"

Despite herself, she smiled. "You're seriously asking me to tell you if Professor Snape is a good kisser or not?"

"The world has become a very scary place," he replied gravely, shaking his head and grinning at her. "It's not like I can get the horrible, horrible thoughts out of my head, so we might as well talk about it."

"Git. Even you admitted he's not that bad."

"You're changing the subject," Harry said in a sing-song voice, and Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Put it this way, it was a hell of a lot better than 'wet'," she retorted sweetly. "And there was no crying." She was actually glad she was already blushing, as it occurred to her that it _had _been wet... only not in that sense. She'd been trying not to fidget in her chair for some time. Still, her point had been made, as Harry looked a little embarrassed.

"No need to be nasty."

"Don't be so nosy, then. Apart from anything else, what do you think he'd do to you if he found out you were taking so much interest in his personal life?"

"Ack. He's not going to find out, though, is he? You wouldn't do that to us."

She hesitated for a long moment before smiling ruefully. "Only because I think he'd be just as angry with me for talking about it in the first place. But seriously, both of you, stop it."

"We're really not trying to tease, Hermione," Harry said earnestly. "Honest, we're not. We just want to make sure you're okay. I mean, this is Snape we're talking about. I don't think he'd really do anything to hurt you, but he's not exactly normal, and we've all seen what can happen when he snaps. This is a bit of a weird situation."

She relented, starting to feel a bit better. "No, I know. It's okay. But really, I'm absolutely fine." She smiled a little. "More than fine, actually. I really wasn't sure he was interested." And it had felt... amazing. Definitely something to think about later; she doubted she'd be able to sleep anyway. It would take more than meditation to calm her mind after that.

"Did you actually, you know, talk about it?" Ron asked archly. "Or were you too... _busy_?"

"Don't start playing this game, Won-Won," she told him sweetly. "I promise, I can embarrass you a lot more than you can embarrass me."

"He'll behave," Harry said, kicking his friend in the shin. "Did you talk about it, though?"

"...Not really," she said quietly, biting her lip. "Sort of. It was a bit rushed. The timing's pretty crap. He's still half convinced he's probably going to die at the end of term – whatever it is he's not saying, I'm starting to really dread it – and there's so much for both of us to worry about. He said – well, implied – that if we survive whatever's about to happen, we'll talk about it then. There's not really time right now."

"Are you okay with that? You deserve better, you know."

"I'd rather he was honest about it, Harry. Better that than to lie and make promises he can't keep. He could have done, you know. I'd have believed pretty much anything he said at that point," she admitted. "He's not taking advantage of the situation. This way we both know we're interested and we've got a bit of space to think about it. If we get a chance to talk later, hopefully we'll both know what we want. Obviously it's not what I was hoping for, but he's really not free to promise me anything at this point."

"I suppose so," he agreed, frowning. "It's not really fair to you, though."

"It's not fair to either of us, Harry," she said gently. "Severus is trying to deal with so much already – it's one reason I haven't tried harder to let him know how I felt before now. I didn't want to add to it. He's got more than enough to cope with right now without having to worry about my feelings, but it's out now. We're both just going to have to wait and see what happens."

"Severus?" Ron repeated, sounding rather incredulous.

"Well, I'm not going to keep calling him 'Professor' _now_, am I? That's a bit creepy." She very carefully tried not to dwell on that thought.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Harry asked, dragging the conversation back on track.

"I really don't know," Hermione admitted softly. "He's worried about something big happening at the end of this year and he was convinced that it's going to kill him. I don't know if that's his normal pessimism or if there is a reason to be worried, but Dumbledore hasn't been acting right either. He's told me he's going to try and find a way out of it, but I don't know if he'll be able to. Something big is coming, and it's going to be bad. But if we both get through it and get a chance to talk..." She hesitated. "I don't know. He's not the kind of man to play games; I don't think he does casual, and he wouldn't risk everything unless there was something there. I mean, if anyone on either side found out about this, I can't even bear to think about what would happen. He wouldn't take the risk if it wasn't important to him, I don't think."

"But he's not actually said anything, has he?" Harry asked gently.

"Well, no." She tried to smile, starting to realise again just how far out of her depth she was. "I think he's nearly as confused as I am, to be honest. It's not exactly a normal situation for him, either, is it? I'm his student, I'm a lot younger than he is, I've annoyed him immensely ever since he met me, I've physically assaulted him twice and stolen from him and I've learned an awful lot about his past and about what he goes through that he'd really rather I didn't know. I'd be worried if he _did_ know what he was doing in this situation, frankly."

They both still looked worried, and she sighed. "I know. Don't look at me like that. I know this isn't ideal. But it's what I've got." She managed a proper smile, pushing aside the panic that was starting to threaten her. "Anyway, this is me you're talking to. I'm not going to jump into anything without thinking about it. It's just been one kiss – well, two, if you want to be technical. Wonderful though it was, it's just a kiss. There's not going to be more to it unless we both know what we want." She almost laughed. "I was brought up better than that."

The boys exchanged glances, but seemed to be reassured by this. Harry relaxed and gave her an impish smile. "Wonderful, eh?"

Blushing again, she nodded. "Yes."

"Gross," Ron decided. "I'm going to go to bed and hope I don't have nightmares."

After he had gone, Harry looked at her seriously. "Are you really okay?"

"Yes, actually. It's not perfect, but life isn't, really." After a moment she admitted, "Okay, I'm starting to panic a bit now that my brain is working again, but you know me, Harry, I worry far too much about everything. I know I'm out of my depth, and I don't really know what I'm doing, and I don't know what's going to happen now, but... it could be a lot worse, and I trust him not to hurt me, at least not deliberately. He's trying. We'll get through the end of the year, and then we'll find some time to talk about things, once we know what else we've got to deal with."

She smiled at him a little shakily. "This is Professor Snape, Harry. It was never going to be the romance of the century, was it? He makes you look emotionally developed and open. I'm certainly not going to do anything I'm not ready for. This isn't a crush for me and I'm not going to let myself get in too deep unless I know for certain how he feels and what's going to happen. I don't want to get hurt any more than you want to see me get hurt."

His green eyes searched her face for a moment before he relaxed properly and leaned back in his chair. "If it was any other girl, I'd be seriously worried," he told her, "but I believe you. You're a lot smarter than the rest of us put together; I trust you to know what you're doing. Just be careful, okay?"

"I will. Stop worrying so much. Whatever he does feel for me, I do know he doesn't want to hurt me either."

Harry nodded. "You're going to have a hell of a lot to talk through by the time you get the chance."

"I know. That's why part of me is glad we're waiting. Like I said, I wasn't sure he was interested; I need time to think, never mind whether he does or not."

"Okay, then." He grinned. "By the way, I took a look at my old pal."

"What? Oh, the basilisk. I'd forgotten all about that."

"You wouldn't be able to say that if you'd been down there. It's not as cold as I thought it was... you would not believe the smell."

"Oh, dear. So much for that plan, then. It was just a thought."

"Well, it depends what he wants from it," Harry said with a shrug. "The meat's a bit... uh... gooey, now, and the guts and stuff seem to have gone – rotted, I suppose, or something ate them. There could be anything down there. But the skin still looks okay, and so do the old shed skins, and the bones are all fine. I was going to try and bring one of the fangs back in case it came in handy, but I had visions of tripping and landing on it or something."

"I'm glad you didn't, then." Hermione grinned and shook her head, fighting another blush. "Somehow, I don't think Potions ingredients are really going to be his highest priority right now, though."

He grinned back at her. "It was really that good?"

This time she managed to suppress the blush, but only just. "It really was..."

"You're mental."

"Probably," she agreed wryly. "Anyway, I'm sure you find my love life absolutely fascinating, but what about yours, hmm? How are things with you and Ginny?"

He grinned sheepishly, looking almost adorably soppy, frankly. "Er, it's going well." His smile faded. "But..." Hermione sat up, looked at him steadily for a moment, then reached out and slapped him around the back of the head, nearly knocking his glasses off and making him yelp. "What was that for?"

"Because you're about to say something stupid so I wanted to get it over with," she told him tartly. "I know you, Harry Potter. You're thinking that something big is going to happen soon, and that with all the Horcruxes to hunt and so on we might not be coming back to Hogwarts if things go wrong, and you're considering being noble and pig-headed and moronic and finishing with her. Aren't you?"

He squirmed. "Um... if I say yes, will you hit me again?"

"I should, by rights. Don't be thick, Harry. You're trying to be an arrogant hero and a prat again. If – _if, _mind – something does happen, we're not going to be thrown out on our own. Assuming the very worst, if we end up leaving school, it will be because the school has closed. If that happens, we'll still have Dumbledore with us, and Severus, whatever he might think. We're not going to lose contact with the rest of the Order, either; the Weasleys at least would never stand for it. Maybe you won't be able to see Ginny for a while, but that doesn't mean you should split up. She's waited years for you to wake up; she's not going to get bored and look elsewhere just because you don't see one another for a few weeks at a time. Do you trust her?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Right, then stop being stupid. If something happens, everyone's going to get an explanation – I'm sure the Order all know that Dumbledore's got us doing something special by now. Ginny will understand. And she's going to be absolutely furious with you if you try this. Don't make decisions for her, Harry. It's the single most annoying thing a man can do. She's not stupid and she knows the risks of being involved with the Chosen One; let her make her own choice if it becomes necessary. Okay?"

He nodded meekly. "Okay."

"Honestly. I've got enough personal problems of my own without having to sort yours out as well."

He stuck his tongue out at her, but he was trying not to smile. "Well, who else am I supposed to talk to? Ron doesn't know anything about girls anyway, and I definitely don't want to talk to him about his sister."

"Here's a novel idea; you could try talking to Ginny herself." She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not spending the rest of my life trying to manage your relationships for you. You're both going to have to learn to do it by yourselves. Ron's probably already beyond help, but you still have a chance."

Harry actually pouted at her, his eyes laughing. "All right, all right, I get it. I'll talk to her." He grinned. "You know, this is really weird. Snape destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul tonight, and we're sitting here talking about our love lives. That seems a bit daft and self-obsessed, doesn't it?"

"We're teenagers, Harry. We can't help it." She grinned back at him. "It's not so strange, though. We don't really know what to do about the Horcruxes. We're just doing what Dumbledore tells us to do at the moment; it's too big to think about all at once, only in small bits, one Horcrux at a time. Talking about it isn't going to help. But this, we can do something about – talking about it makes us feel better. You look better, and I feel better. And we'll be better at coping with what lies ahead if we're not all emotional wrecks. Besides, I personally think it's nice to remember that the fate of the world doesn't depend on everything we do. Some things in our lives are still just about us."

"It must be nice to know everything about everything," he told her, smiling. "Everything you've just said seems really obvious now, but I'd never have thought of it on my own. I wish I was as smart as you."

"Oh, shut up."

"I'm serious. Thanks."

"You soppy bugger." Hermione shook her head and smiled at him. "You're welcome, Harry. Now, it's getting late; we should get to bed. I think these last few days are going to be very, very busy."

As they went their separate ways, Harry called across the common room from the stairs up to the boys' dormitories, "Hermione?"

"What?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Wonderful?"

"_Good night, _Harry."

"Night." He gave her a look of pure mischief. "Sweet dreams."

Annoyed with herself for blushing yet again, Hermione shook her head, glared at him and turned away, heading for her own bed and smiling to herself. _I think they will be._

* * *

><p>Severus had never been so relieved that lessons stopped in June for the exams. He could not have coped with trying to teach. His mind was all over the place, his near-legendary focus utterly shattered in the space of two days; his thoughts wandered more or less constantly and he couldn't concentrate on anything. One or two of his colleagues had noticed he was a little distracted – Minerva had finally beaten him at chess last night, and had crowed over it most immaturely – but nobody had questioned him, possibly because they knew he would have ripped their head off if they had. Even the portraits had largely left him alone, apparently accepting Hermione's story that the Fiendfyre had left him rather shaken up; it was powerful dark magic, after all. That was just as well – he didn't want to imagine Dilys' reaction when she found out what had happened. He had always hated being teased, and she never did know where to draw the line.<p>

And, thank Merlin for small mercies, he hadn't been Summoned. If the Dark Lord started digging around in his head again, he could deal with that without even thinking about it, but in his current distracted state of mind he was much more likely to make a mistake that would earn his master's wrath, and although he had regained his health to all outward appearances he didn't really want to test it. He was also more likely to get into a disagreement with one of his brethren, and frankly they weren't worth the effort. Additionally, he didn't really want to encounter Lucius or Narcissa at the moment, not now he had formally disowned Draco – he didn't intend to abandon the boy completely, but still, it wasn't what they expected of him and it would rouse suspicion.

He had to admit that he had been avoiding Hermione, but equally, she had been avoiding him. They had passed one another in the corridor the following morning, and exchanged a glance that had lasted perhaps a second or two that had conveyed a hell of a lot, and since then by mutual accord they had kept their distance from one another. He knew he was capable of pretending it was for the best and massively fucking up, but this was genuinely mutual, because during that one glance they had both seen that neither of them had a clue what happened now and were both extremely confused. It wasn't the most mature way to handle things, but there simply wasn't time. Once term ended, if they were both still alive and nothing had gone too badly wrong, they'd find time to talk. Right now, both of them needed to slow down and avoid getting too deep too quickly.

It was a bit of an awkward situation, but nowhere near as bad as it could have been, he reflected philosophically. If this... whatever it was... hadn't been mutual, it would have been sheer bloody agony, and he'd been there before and had absolutely no desire to go through that again. Confusion was acceptable, for the moment. Confusion didn't hurt, and confusion could eventually be dealt with. And, really, there were more pressing things to worry about – the war took precedence over his romantic incompetence.

As though the thought had been a summons, silver light flared in the corner of his living room, interrupting his wandering thoughts – he had been trying to read, but his attention had drifted ages ago. Interested, Severus watched the Patronus forming, wondering whose it was – he was seldom contacted by Patronus; the Order members he spoke to most often were Dumbledore and Minerva, who would talk to him by Floo since they were in the same building. It looked a lot smaller than most of the Patronuses he could think of... he blinked as the shape formed. _An otter? Who..._

The otter sat back on its hind legs and spoke, and he stared as Hermione's voice told him, "_The Headmaster called us just now – well, he called Harry, and Ron and I tagged along. We're going after a Horcrux as soon as we're ready._"

As it faded, he kept staring for a frozen moment before shaking it off. The message was, for the moment, more important than the method of delivery. He had no idea where they were going or what he might need, or how much time he had to prepare; standing, he found his coat and boots, foregoing the robe for easier movement, and headed swiftly out of the dungeons through his usual back door. Once outside, he automatically looked towards the lake for a moment with a wry smile before turning and jogging down the drive through the warm June evening.

The image of the silver otter stayed behind his eyes; it was the first time he had seen Hermione's Patronus. Peculiarly, it suited her, at least in some respects, but... well, why couldn't it have been something less embarrassing? He was dismally certain that the problem with his own Patronus was related to her, and if it turned into an otter he might as well just shoot himself. He could try it now, of course, and see what happened now that he knew what hers was, but frankly he was too embarrassed. At least the otter wouldn't look female, he supposed – the doe was a serious insult to what masculinity he had left – but Tarka wasn't much of an improvement over Bambi's mother, really. _Bloody typical. So much for the big bad Death Eater. _It was pretty ironic – he was a dark enough wizard that he shouldn't really be able to cast a Patronus at all, and in fact he was the only Death Eater who could, yet its form was the girliest and most pathetic of anyone's he knew, or at least it had been.

Amused at his own woolgathering, he shook it off. He needed to pay attention; something like this could be dangerous, although admittedly if it was too risky Dumbledore wouldn't be bringing his precious Potter along. If nothing else, he was going to seriously annoy the Headmaster by tagging along like this, and he'd have to concentrate to make sure the old man didn't try and lose him somewhere along the way. At least he would get to see Hermione again, and in public – which for once was a good thing, since it would mean they would have to behave normally. It would also mean he couldn't give in to temptation, which was likely to be more of a problem than he would have thought it might be; since that night, his dreams had been extremely vivid and detailed, and he wasn't about to put any faith in his self control.

Mind you, if that was the biggest problem they faced tonight, they would be doing extremely well.

* * *

><p>Overall, Hermione was quite pleased at how calm she felt as she and the boys followed Dumbledore down the drive. It had been a very strange couple of days, admittedly, but she was managing to stay on top of things and not let her nerves get the better of her. The night it had happened, she hadn't slept much, understandably, but she hadn't really worried all that much – she'd been too busy discovering how startlingly vivid her imagination could be. Revision had kept her preoccupied throughout yesterday, and then last night she had had a panicky fit of tears which had mercifully been short-lived and had been at least partly hormonal, and today had been better. It was going to be all right eventually, provided they could both survive the last weeks of term. One of the biggest potential obstacles had been her worry that Severus would either not be interested or would do something staggeringly idiotic and try and prevent anything happening, and since she knew he was prepared to at least try, she was pretty sure they could work something out eventually.<p>

It would have been nice to talk to someone, but she had discussed it with Harry and Ron as far as she intended to and in fact further than she had wanted to. Poppy wasn't an option; the nurse hadn't had a problem with the two of them in the abstract, but now that something had happened, even if it had just been a kiss, that might have changed and she'd rather not know. Dilys and Phineas were even less of an option; she didn't want to imagine the teasing or the jokes, which would almost certainly be filthy. And they would tease Severus unmercifully, too; she'd like to spare him that, if possible, and he wouldn't be happy to know she had been discussing him anyway. So as far as the portraits knew, nothing had changed and she was busy preparing for exams.

Besides, there were more important things to deal with first; she watched the Headmaster's back for a moment before glancing at the boys, who were both grinning in a kind of nervous excitement that matched how she was feeling at the moment. From the way Dumbledore had talked, this Horcrux was far more difficult to get to and far better guarded than the ones that had been dealt with before, for whatever reason; she really hated facing the unknown, and the last time she had left Hogwarts to do something related to the war they had nearly been killed and she had been badly hurt. Dumbledore was with them, and despite the recent awkwardness Harry at least seemed more relaxed because of it, but she wanted to sway the odds a bit further in their favour just in case – hence the message to Severus, although she had always intended to try and involve him as much as possible, since he was the one who had bled for this so often. If anyone could keep them safe, he could.

And, okay, she could admit that she also just wanted to see him. She had been disappointed that he hadn't been waiting at the doors, and the entire way down the drive she had been straining her senses, since she wouldn't put it past him to sneak up on them. The Headmaster's presence and the fact that Severus wasn't aware that Harry and Ron knew what was going on would mean he would have to behave as nastily as he usually did, though – she wasn't looking forward to his reaction when he eventually found out how much her friends knew – and that was a shame, although it was also safer. Even two days later, she could still taste him, and it was very distracting.

Firmly making herself rehearse potentially useful charms and spells in her head, she let fog cloud her thoughts as she calmed down, listening to the boys bantering in whispers. A shiver ran down her spine as they approached the gates, remembering the last time she had been down here – for a moment she could almost smell blood – but then it was replaced by an entirely different sort of shiver when she saw the muted red glow of a lit cigarette falling to the ground, and she couldn't keep the smile from her face as Severus' deep, silky voice drawled softly, "Good evening, Headmaster. It is a pleasant night for a stroll, is it not?"

For a heart-stopping moment it looked like a disaster was imminent, as Dumbledore drew his wand with startling speed and spun around; a patch of shadow beside the gates moved as Severus stepped forward, both hands raised to show that they were empty. "Now, now..."

Dumbledore took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "Severus. This is a surprise. Are you on your way out, perhaps?"

"Do we really need to speak in code all the time?" he inquired in a not quite scornful tone. "No, I haven't been summoned. I had nothing better to do and decided to invite myself along on this jolly sightseeing trip. I trust you have no objections to that, under the circumstances."

"I cannot leave the school unprotected, Severus..."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe it is unprotected, although I would enjoy seeing Minerva's face had she just heard you imply that she isn't capable of defeating half the Dark Lord's army all by herself. She and Filius Flitwick are both skilled, experienced and powerful duellists, as you well know, and the other teachers are mostly capable of looking after themselves. Except possibly Sybill."

"It is a risky time," the Headmaster said neutrally. "You know what's coming."

"Then stay here and face it," Severus shot back, his eyes hardening. "If you really thought it was so risky you wouldn't be standing here arguing with me, you'd still be in the castle. Shall we?"

"This is going to be fun, isn't it?" Ron murmured as Severus opened the gates and bowed mockingly to his employer. "I would have expected him to be in a _good _mood."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "He is in a good mood. He likes winding Dumbledore up. Come on."

Harry demonstrated almost suicidal bravery again by moving to stand between the two older wizards, grinning cheerfully and trying painfully hard to pretend everything was fine. "Where are we going, sir?"

"Before we leave, I wish to reiterate what I said in my office," the Headmaster said gravely. "I expect each of you to obey me absolutely, without question or hesitation. That means you too, Severus, if you insist on accompanying us. I will have your word, or we go no further; Harry and his friends have already promised."

The two men stared at one another; something had hardened in Severus' expression, his black eyes darkening still further with the beginnings of anger. "What would be the point of giving my word?" he asked finally. "You don't believe that it is worth anything." His jaw tightened for a moment before he sighed, appearing to relax. "I will do as you say, as long as it makes sense. That's the best you're going to get; take it or leave it."

"One day, Severus, you are going to push me too far," Dumbledore said almost cheerfully, and the skin twitched under the younger wizard's eye, although he didn't answer.

Harry cleared his throat bravely and repeated, "Where are we going, sir?"

Turning away, the Headmaster evidently decided to ignore his employee as much as possible, addressing himself exclusively to Harry with only a brief glance at Ron and Hermione. "A cave on the coast, near the orphanage where Tom Riddle grew up."

"Where they went on holiday, and he scared those two children?"

"Precisely."

"What are we going to have to face, sir?" Hermione asked. "You said in your office that this one was more heavily protected."

"Yes, Miss Granger. I do not know the exact nature of the protection around it, but it is more extensive than the others have been. We will not be able to Apparate directly there, only to the cliffs above. I hope you can all swim. As for what we will find once we get there, let us find out. Harry has travelled by Side-Along Apparition before; have either of you?"

"No, sir," Ron said.

"No, sir," Hermione lied, resisting the urge to glance at Severus; she could almost feel his approving smirk. Last summer... it had been less than a year ago, but it felt like another lifetime. So much had happened since then...

"It is somewhat disorientating, but not harmful. If you would hold hands? Harry, on my right, if you could take my elbow. Mr Weasley to my left, with Miss Granger. Severus, I can give you our co-ordinates..."

"I wasn't born yesterday," Severus replied scathingly, striding forward to stand next to Hermione. He was facing away from her, not merely looking in the other direction but with his entire body angled away from her, and his harsh features were set in a scowl, but she felt her heart speed up as his fingers linked through hers in the darkness between their bodies. He hadn't so much as glanced at her since meeting them at the end of the drive, but this made up for it; she dared to squeeze his fingers briefly, and his thumb moved in a slow circle over her hand in response that made her shiver before Dumbledore spoke again and jolted her back to the present.

"Very well, then. One, two, three..."

* * *

><p><em>Drama, drama, drama... and the next couple of chapters are going to be pure insane action.<br>_


	32. Chapter 32

_How appropriate, it's Friday the Thirteenth today... could that be an omen? Read on!  
><em>

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><p><strong>"This life has scarred my soul<br>But it's made me stronger than before  
>I'm able to determine my own fate<br>While the rest of the world burns..."**  
>– Until The End, 'Let The World Burn'.<p>

* * *

><p>Whether Dumbledore wasn't as good at Side-Along as Severus, or whether it was because there were so many of them, Hermione wasn't sure, but she was nearly sick when they arrived at their destination. She wasn't the only one, by the gagging noises Ron and Harry were making, but sadly it did mean that Severus let go of her hand in a hurry. Recovering her balance, she glanced at him; his eyes flicked to the others for a moment, checking whether he was being observed or not, before he gave her a very, very brief smile and turned away to survey their surroundings.<p>

Copying him, she looked around. They were standing on a rocky outcrop at the foot of a cliff which was just barely big enough for the five of them; there was a breeze, but it wasn't cold. Venturing closer to the edge, she peered over cautiously – she wasn't fond of heights. It wasn't too far down, and there were plenty of ledges and so on. "Where's the cave, sir?" she asked as Dumbledore and the boys joined her.

The Headmaster pointed with his good hand. "Along the cliffs to the right is a tunnel of sorts through the rock. It is easiest to climb down here and swim along; unfortunately the tide is coming in, or it would be possible to walk part of the way. It would be best if we leave our robes and other encumbrances here, I think."

Despite her fear of heights, the climb wasn't that bad, Hermione was relieved to find; even with only one good hand, Dumbledore managed it easily enough. The boys followed, bantering playfully with one another and occasionally glancing up to check she was all right; Severus was somewhere behind her, bringing up the rear. She had remembered to braid her hair back out of the way – just as well, with the increasing breeze – and it was easier in the dark when she couldn't really see the drop below, as they climbed down towards the surf.

Smothered yelps greeted Harry's and Ron's descent into the water; Hermione understood why as soon as the waves hit. _Holy hell, that's cold! _Even Dumbledore looked uncomfortable, as he made a show of tucking his beard into his belt out of the way, and she heard Severus hiss very softly as the water got past his waist. At least she had had the presence of mind to keep her jumper on, she reflected, idly watching the way his shirt had turned all but see-through as it absorbed more water. That was a complication she didn't need, and a distraction that was probably a bad idea.

At least they could all swim. Ron turned out to be the worst, but he was managing a decent attempt at a doggy-paddle. Severus had apparently got bored of keeping pace, rapidly overtaking them; he was at the crack in the rocks that apparently led to the cave by now.

"Severus, nobody is impressed by your showing off," Dumbledore called, his irritation not quite hiding the fact that he was a little out of breath. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Hermione was reasonably certain that the younger wizard's response had been an obscene gesture.

"Really?" Harry murmured, doing a passable front crawl alongside her; he had been humming the Jaws theme music and was clearly in one of his dafter moods. "Nobody's impressed?" He grinned mischievously at her. Without replying, Hermione hit him with a non-verbal weak Impediment Jinx, freezing him in place long enough for him to sink. He surfaced spluttering, coughing and laughing. "That's what I thought."

"Harry," she said sweetly, "what do you think is going to happen if he hears you making jokes about things you're not supposed to know? There are a lot of opportunities for you to have an accident, and I won't be remotely sorry."

"Why do you think I waited until he was too far away to hear?" he retorted, entirely unrepentant. She ducked him again and swam faster, gripping her lit wand between her teeth as she followed Dumbledore and Severus into the tunnel. It seemed to be a long time until she could haul herself out onto the rocky steps alongside the older wizards, who were both ignoring one another as much as possible as they dried off. Severus' shirt really was clinging to him, she noticed, and tried not to stare.

"What now?" she asked, shivering, as the boys crawled out of the surf after her.

The Headmaster gestured to the mouth of the cave. "Our destination lies through there. It is, quite naturally, warded..." He trailed off, and he and Severus both approached the cave to examine the rocks around it. She followed, flanked by Harry and Ron, and they finished drying themselves off as they waited; the cave was small and shallow and clearly didn't lead anywhere, so obviously there was some sort of concealment in place.

Finally Dumbledore laid a hand on the wall decisively. "Here." Severus nodded agreement and stepped back a pace as the Headmaster drew his wand and pointed at the place he had touched; the outline of a door appeared briefly and faded. Both wizards resumed their examination, before Severus abruptly snorted in amusement and Dumbledore shook his head.

"Oh, surely not. So crude."

"It is rather typical of him," Severus noted dryly, looking around. "Come here, you three. We may as well get some sort of educational benefit out of this little trip; see what you can sense here. You should know what the Dark Lord's magic feels like."

Obediently they moved closer, tentatively touching the wall and trying to work out what they were supposed to be detecting.

"Anything?" Dumbledore inquired.

Ron gave up first, shaking his head. "Not really, Professor. I can tell there's magic there, now I know where to look, but I've never been much good at this sort of thing. It tingles, that's the best I can do."

"It feels weird," Harry said slowly, staring at the rock with an odd expression on his face, "but I don't know why, exactly."

Hermione only shrugged noncommittally, wiping her hand on her jumper. She had felt it all right, a dark and insidious sort of heat; Severus had told her Voldemort's magic was fire, but this wasn't flames, it was something more subtle, almost feverish. "What sort of ward is it, sir?"

"A sacrificial barrier," Dumbledore said, sounding rather disdainful. "One must make an offering in order to pass through."

"An offering of what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Blood," Severus provided, sounding bored. "I fail to see the point, frankly. It isn't powerful enough to require much. Weasley, time to contribute."

"What?" Ron protested. "Why me?"

Severus gave him a steady look that wasn't quite a glare. "You tell me. Strategy, remember?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged baffled glances as Ron stared at the floor; finally the redhead sighed. "Fair enough, sir. Anyone got a knife?"

Dumbledore produced a blade from somewhere in his clothing and handed it over without comment, as Hermione asked in exasperation, "Can someone translate, please? Why Ron? Is this a pureblood thing?"

"Nope, it's a logic thing," Ron said ruefully, accepting the knife. He pointed to Harry and then to Dumbledore with it. "I'm not one of the most important people here." He pointed to Severus. "I haven't got the Dark Mark doing weird things to my blood." He pointed to her and grinned. "And I'm not a girl."

"You sexist, chauvinistic pig," she replied calmly – she said it to Ron, but she meant it for Severus, who wasn't looking at her and had a suspiciously blank expression on his face.

"Are you volunteering, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked, sounding amused.

"I didn't say that."

Harry stifled a laugh and looked around at Severus. "Does the Dark Mark actually affect your blood, sir?"

"Probably not enough to affect this barrier, but it's better not to risk it. Besides, I spoke first." Severus smirked and gestured to Ron. "While we're young, Mr Weasley. Don't slit your wrist or anything. A few drops will be sufficient."

When the blood hit the rock, the outline of the arch appeared again, and the stone inside it faded away to create another tunnel. Hermione healed the small cut on her friend's arm as Dumbledore stepped through, and they followed him onto the shore of an underground lake in a huge cavern, lit only by a faint and rather ominous-looking greenish glow in the distance. "How delightful," the Headmaster said mildly, still sounding amused. "Be careful not to touch the water."

"Is it just me, or does this not make sense?" Harry asked aloud as the five of them began to walk along the edge of the lake, looking for... something.

"How so?" Hermione asked.

"Well, this Horcrux seems a lot better protected than the others have been. I dunno what Malfoy did with the diary all those years, but he didn't seem bothered about giving it to Ginny so he obviously didn't know what it was. The diadem was just sat in the Room of Requirement, and the ring was in the ruins of their old house, wasn't it? So why is this one so well guarded? There's obviously some kind of creepy monster in the lake, probably more than one. And the blood barrier spell..."

"That's a good question, Harry," Dumbledore agreed quietly. "I doubt we shall ever know the answer, though. Ah, here we are..." He stopped at a point that looked indistinguishable from any other along the lake shore and began cautiously making passes in the air over the lake with his good hand, before seeming to grab hold of something; holding his wand awkwardly in the blackened fingers of his other hand, he tapped his fist, and a corroded-looking copper chain appeared. He tapped the chain, which rattled and began to move, and a small boat surfaced from the eerily smooth black water of the lake and drifted innocently over to them.

"Harry's right, this is daft," Ron muttered as they stared at it. "You-Know-Who would be stuffed if he ever needed to get at this one in a hurry, wouldn't he? D'you reckon the boat's cursed to sink half way across, or something?"

"No, I shouldn't think so," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "We do, however, have a problem." He touched the prow of the boat with a finger. "This is only large enough for two, but it will only allow a single wizard to travel within it. Harry, as you are not yet of age..."

"Everyone keeps rubbing that in," Harry muttered good-naturedly.

"Quite. In any case, the charm will not apply to you, but that still leaves us with three of our party who have no means of travelling across the lake..."

"Two," Severus said abruptly, staring at the boat through narrowed eyes. "I can get myself over there. The Dark Lord doesn't need to use a boat either... Potter's right, this doesn't make sense."

The Headmaster raised his eyebrows. "I had assumed such methods would not be possible here."

Severus shook his head. "No, there is nothing in the air preventing flight – a broom wouldn't work, naturally, but nothing else. I suppose he had no reason to disable it; I don't know anyone else who can do it."

"Wait," Harry said, bewildered. "You can fly without a broom?"

The ghost of a smirk crossed his face. "Yes."

"_Cool,_" both Ron and Harry said immediately, and Hermione stifled a laugh. _Boys._

"Can you teach us?" Harry begged.

"No."

"Sir..."

"You asked if I can, not if I would. I can't. Or, rather, you can't learn."

"Why not?" Harry protested.

Severus sighed. "We don't have time for a full explanation. The only way I know of learning this is the way I was taught, which was somewhat brutal and involved being repeatedly pushed over the edge of high places until my need to survive yet another fall was strong enough to override the logic circuit in the brain that says humans cannot fly. Small children frequently achieve some form of flight when their magic first manifests, but once they are old enough to understand that isn't possible, they lose the ability. I don't know how the Dark Lord learned it, but that is how he taught me. None of the others had the same view of pain and survival to pick it up."

The boys subsided, evidently unable to think of an argument. Dumbledore regarded them all thoughtfully. "Unless you are willing to take passengers, Severus, we have a problem..."

"I have never tried to carry anyone else." Severus eyed the water distrustfully. "I do not want to find out what happens to anyone who falls in that."

"Then I am afraid Miss Granger and Mr Weasley will have to remain here..."

"That's not fair!" Hermione protested, hearing Ron echoing her.

"I did try and dissuade you from accompanying us anyway," Dumbledore pointed out gently.

"Can't you send the boat back?" Ron asked hopefully.

"If something goes wrong – if there is something over there we do not expect – we may need to leave in a hurry. I am sorry. There is no other way."

"We can't just sit here in the dark not knowing what's happening," Hermione said, despising herself for the pleading note in her voice and trying not to look at Severus too obviously. It was too dark to read his expression but she hoped he was sympathetic; it seemed there really was no choice. "We'll go mad."

"Hmm," Severus said distantly, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, before abruptly stepping forward and reaching for Harry's head; Harry yelped and jumped away, leaving several black hairs behind in the older wizard's fingers.

"What was that for?" he protested, rubbing his head.

"Don't be such a wimp," Severus told him dismissively, touching his wand to the hairs. "_Resonatus._" He held the hair out towards Hermione. "It won't work terribly well, but this will enable you to hear most of what Potter hears, at least. It is too far away for you to be able to see what is happening, though."

He had angled his body to block their hands from view; smiling a little, she took the hair from his hand, brushing his fingers with hers and suppressing a shiver. "Thank you, sir," she said politely, giving him a grateful look that he returned with a not-quite-smile before turning away.

"I will see you two on the other side," he told Dumbledore and Harry, putting his wand inside his coat and taking a couple of steps away; pausing for a moment, he loped forward two strides and jumped, vanishing quickly into the shadows.

"I didn't even see how he did it," Ron complained. "I can't believe we're being left behind, either."

"Are you going to moan all night?" Hermione asked, closing her hand over Harry's hair. "Because if you are, I'll feed you to whatever's in the lake." She looked at Harry. "Give us a commentary, please?"

He nodded. "Of course." His voice had an odd echo, since it was also coming from the little clump of hair; he grinned. "Cool. See you soon, then."

Rather forlornly, Hermione and Ron watched them climb into the small boat and disappear into the darkness. A light had appeared from the green glow across the lake; Severus, presumably, letting them know he had reached the source.

"Well, this sucks," Ron said finally, sighing and finding a rock to sit on. She came and sat beside him, both of them bending to get closer to the hair.

"It really, really does," she agreed morosely, staring at the tiny little point of wand light in the distance.

After a few moments, Harry's voice reached them; he sounded oddly tinny and echoey, but his words were clear enough. "Can you guys hear me?" Hermione lifted her wand and flashed a light briefly in response. "Once for yes, I hope that means. You're not missing anything so far, except there are dead bodies in the water, which is really, really creepy. They can't hurt us, can they?" he added worriedly.

Dumbledore's voice sounded even more distorted. "No. We have nothing to fear from the dead."

"If you say so, sir." Harry didn't sound convinced, and Ron and Hermione grinned at each other at his doubtful tone.

A few minutes passed as they watched the little lights getting closer to one another beside the faint green glow. Finally Harry's voice reached them again. "Okay, well, we're here. It's a tiny little island – well, it's a rock, basically. There's a pedestal with a basin on top of it, full of green liquid – that's what's glowing. Do you know what it is, sir?"

"I am not sure," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "The Horcrux is inside the basin, clearly, and the potion has been protected by charms to prevent it being interfered with in any way. I suspect it is intended to be drunk. However, I do not know what it is..."

There was a soft noise that turned out to be a very distant sigh of impatience, before Severus' voice spoke. "How fortunate you chose to bring a Potions expert, then. Get out of the way, Potter, and let me look at it. Ah... of course. Because this wasn't difficult enough already. Damn."

"What is it, Professor?" Harry asked, as Ron and Hermione leaned closer to listen.

"It is somewhat theatrically called the Potion of Despair."

"Is it a poison?"

"In a manner of speaking. It won't kill you, at least not immediately, but you'll wish it had. I have never seen this, only read about it... I wonder where he got it from?"

"You didn't brew it?"

They heard Severus bark a rough laugh. "Use your head, Potter. You already know the Dark Lord did not see fit to trust any of his minions with the knowledge of what he was doing. He chose to use Pettigrew to brew the potions that sustained his life prior to his return, rather than include even one other person in the plan. However, he certainly did not make this himself – very few would be capable of it. I am not sure even I could manage it. The charms protecting it are his, but not the potion."

"What, exactly, does it do, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired softly.

"Quite a lot of things." Hermione was amused to note that Severus' voice had altered to his usual lecturing tone, the one he used in class when he got caught up in whatever he was talking about and forgot to sound contemptuous or nasty. She could picture his expression, too, his eyes glittering with interest. _It's a shame his voice sounds so weird, _she mused idly.

Severus continued, "Primarily, it causes physical pain – more specifically, agonising stomach cramps. After a few minutes – just long enough for the drinker to start adjusting to the pain – the mental effects come into play. It mimics the effect of a Dementor's presence, forcing the drinker to relive the very worst moments of their lives, but rather than merely remembering them, you are plunged into a full hallucinatory multi-sensual replay – sight, sound, scent, touch, taste and emotion. Depending on how strong it is and how much you have to drink, it may wear off after a few hours, it may drive you insane, or it may simply kill you slowly over several days."

"Well, bugger," Ron said from their seat on the rock, neatly summing up Hermione's opinion. He added, "You're right, it is really weird that he's protected this one so much more strongly. Why do you reckon that is?"

"I don't know. Maybe this was his first one, or something. Maybe it's the one that's most important to him, which probably means it's something of Slytherin's? Shush, I'm trying to listen."

He subsided, and they listened as Harry asked uncertainly, "What do we do now?"

Dumbledore said distantly, "Neither I nor you would survive drinking it, Harry."

"Don't you bloody dare!" Hermione snapped, turning to glare at the distant glow.

"He can't hear you, Hermione," Ron pointed out, and flinched when she glared at him. "I'm just saying..."

"And Professor Snape would?" Harry asked doubtfully after quite a long pause that made the two left behind on the lake shore really, really wish they could see what was happening.

"I do not know, Harry."

They heard Snape growl in exasperation. "Merlin save us from literal-minded Gryffindors! Get out of the way."

A few odd sounds echoed through the little clump of hair, before Harry said blankly, "Oh. Well, I guess that would work."

Rather pointedly, Hermione aimed her wand towards the island. "_Lumos maxima_!" The flare of light lasted less than a second, but it was enough to make her point.

"Sorry, guys. Professor Snape just created a goblet and drank some of the potion. He didn't swallow it, just held it in his mouth for a minute while he made another basin on the floor, then spat it into that." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It's kind of gross actually." He spoke again, more loudly. "Does this mean it won't harm you, sir?"

"No," Severus said distantly. "There are a lot of toxic ingredients in this potion. Fortunately, it has been here a long time and has lost much of its efficacy. It's certainly not going to kill me, but it is not exactly pleasant."

"Never mind the bloody potion, _I'm_ going to kill him," Hermione told Ron calmly. "For God's sake, if I'd known he was going to pull a stunt like this I never would have told him we were going out tonight."

Her friend grinned at her as they listened to the distant noises. "Well, we'd be in trouble if he wasn't here, wouldn't we? Dumbledore didn't know what the potion was. And one of them would have had to drink it anyway, and you heard what Snape said it did. One of them would've been seriously hurt. I don't think they'd have thought of spitting it out."

Despite herself, Hermione smiled in rueful acknowledgement. _At least I picked a smart man... _"You'd need a very twisty mind to think of it," she agreed. "And really, we're after something protected by the Dark Arts and a potion, so I guess we did need an expert in the Dark Arts and Potions. I'm still going to kill him, though."

"Can you do this any faster, sir?" they heard Harry ask. "I'm not criticising," he added hastily as Hermione smiled, picturing the glare that would be being directed at her friend. "I just thought it would be easier to get it over with quickly."

They heard Severus spit to one side and cough before answering. "No, I cannot. The enchantments are on the potion as well as the basin; I have to hold each dose in my mouth long enough for the spells to evaporate before it is possible to spit it out. If I did not, it would merely reappear in the original basin."

"Can we help, as you're not actually drinking it?"

"He's being a bit obvious," Ron noted. "Even Dumbledore's not going to believe Harry's asking because he's worried about Snape. I'm guessing Snape doesn't realise we know what's going on?"

"You're still alive, aren't you? Shush."

Severus replied quietly, "No. Don't distract me, please. I need to concentrate, or I am going to start hallucinating."

"Damnit," Hermione whispered, biting her lip. "You stubborn prat, Occlumency doesn't mean you can do everything..."

"He sounds all right," Ron said awkwardly, trying to be comforting and failing miserably. "He knows what he's doing... _Lumos,_" he added, obviously realising he was getting nowhere and appealing to Harry for updates.

There were some scuffling noises and Harry's voice came through in a muffled whisper. "Sorry, wanted to try and get out of earshot. He's okay, Hermione, at least I think so. He's got his eyes closed, but he's standing normally and breathing okay, and he hasn't swallowed any of the potion. He's not sweating, or clenching his fists. I dunno what else I'm supposed to be looking for but he looks okay."

"See?" Ron said hopefully.

Hermione sighed. "That doesn't mean a thing, Ron. He can dust himself off and walk away from the Cruciatus like nothing's happened. You saw him acting normally just hours after I told you he'd been tortured almost to death. Just because he looks okay doesn't mean he is."

"Foolish Gryffindor." Severus' voice was a muted growl. "Stop worrying."

She grinned despite herself, and Ron laughed. "He wasn't talking to Harry, was he?"

"No," she agreed, shaking her head. "Sneaky bastard."

By the sound of it Harry was trying not to laugh as he continued his commentary. "See? He's fine. He's more than three quarters of the way through the potion, too. He's not spitting it so accurately now, and it's still pretty gross, but it's fine. I can't see the Horcrux yet though. Hang on, he's opened his eyes and stopped drinking..."

They heard Severus say very clearly, "Oh, fucking hell."

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked sharply.

"I'm being Summoned."

There was a faint splash and a gagging sound, and Harry whispered, "He's just swallowed a gobletful. I guess there isn't time to wait and spit it out now. He's gone a bit paler..."

"Oh, God," Hermione breathed, clutching Ron's arm.

"Severus..."

"There's no time, Dumbledore. Shut up," he said thickly. There was a scrape of metal on stone and another cough, before something clinked. "I've got to go."

"He's just scooped something up in the goblet," Harry's voice explained in a whisper. "He drank the potion around it and spat it at Dumbledore..."

Further commentary proved unnecessary as the shadows over the lake moved and blurred and resolved themselves into Severus himself, landing nearby with a scrape of his boots on the wet rock and starting to jog along the lake shore past them with his head down.

"Be careful," she whispered uneasily, as Ron awkwardly squeezed her arm and stared fixedly in the other direction, pretending he wasn't there.

Severus looked up and met her eyes for a moment; he looked a little ill, but she'd seen him look far worse, and his eyes softened slightly as he looked at her, crinkling at the corners in his usual almost-smile. "I will," he replied without moving his lips, so softly she almost didn't hear him, before he accelerated into a run and vanished into the darkness and Harry's voice reached them as he started questioning Dumbledore about the object they had found in the basin.

* * *

><p>Severus nearly concussed himself travelling through the tunnel by air instead of swimming, but he didn't have time to be more careful. He threw up when he reached the outcrop where he had left his outer robe, gagging and retching before spitting a fair amount of seriously disgusting-looking green slime into the sea. Resisting the urge to start quoting The Exorcist, he used <em>Aguamenti <em>to rinse his mouth out and wash the worst of the salt away in case anyone wondered why he had been to the seaside tonight. Cramps gripped him, and he could still hear screaming and sobbing in his head; Occlumency at least meant he wasn't seeing the images that accompanied it, but the auditory hallucinations were proving too difficult to ignore. Spitting bile, he doubled over, pressing his fists to his abdomen before forcing himself to straighten up and retrieve his clothes, finding his robe and mask in one of the pockets as always.

It was hideously dangerous to answer a Summons in this condition, he knew that, but it would be more dangerous not to answer at all. The time was wrong, and all his instincts were screaming at him; he knew in his heart that this was it, that the Dark Lord was planning to attack. Why did everything have to happen at once? There was no _time_! Trying not to tremble, he slid a hand under his sleeve to press against the burning Dark Mark and concentrated.

He was glad that he was usually the last to arrive; everyone else could answer immediately, but he usually had to get off the school grounds first, or in this case get out of the cave and back to the cliffs. It meant that on this occasion there was nobody else to witness it as he fell to his knees and tried to stop himself fainting in the aftermath of Apparition, momentarily disorientated. The cramps weren't bad, and the memories assaulting him could have been a lot worse, but he still felt a little off colour.

Slowly he began to walk across the gravel drive and manicured lawns of Malfoy Manor, concentrating on his breathing, reaching for Occlumency and steadily pushing away his awareness both of the pain and the onslaught of memories. He relived that night in his dreams quite a lot, what little he remembered of it; he'd be damned if he had to do so while he was awake as well. By the time he reached the doors of the mansion, the hysterical, keening, choked sobs had faded to the very edge of hearing and the cramps were bearable; that was probably as good as it was going to get. He could still taste the potion on his tongue, under the sourness of bile and vomit; peculiarly, it hadn't actually tasted that bad. There had been a bitterness to it, since one of the main ingredients was absinthe and the wormwood was strong, but the overall flavour had been somewhere between aniseed and peppermint.

He hurried to the usual meeting hall, removing the mask that hid his features as he bowed to the figure at the head of the table. "My lord."

"Severus. How good of you to join us at last. I trust we aren't inconveniencing you too much?" The sarcasm was a bad sign; he didn't want to imagine what the Cruciatus would do to him in this condition.

"My apologies, my lord. Dumbledore... I came as soon as I could." His master wouldn't accept excuses, which was just as well, since he couldn't think of any. Oddly, Voldemort didn't either insult him or curse him, instead waving him to his usual seat and standing up, beginning to pace along the table. Worryingly, he was smiling, which Severus didn't like. Anything that made the madman smile was likely to be unhealthy.

Voldemort stopped behind the Malfoys. Narcissa looked nervous, and by the look on her face was trying to hide it and look proud, but she had grown increasingly ragged around the edges of late. Lucius' expression was wooden; he was unshaven and his grey eyes were bloodshot, staring fixedly straight ahead of him. Draco sat beside his father, confirming Severus' suspicions; the boy looked petrified as Voldemort laid a bony hand on his shoulder.

"My friends, young Draco here has done well by us tonight. A short while ago he found a path into Hogwarts that will accommodate all of us; now he informs me that Dumbledore is absent for the evening." The red eyes stared briefly at Severus with an expression that promised punishment later for not revealing that himself; Severus bowed his head indifferently, no longer caring. He didn't intend to be around for it, not if things really were coming to a head.

"So, my loyal followers," Voldemort continued softly, "if you are agreeable, tonight we will enter Hogwarts and take over. By the time the old fool gathers any opposition, it will be too late." He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "And our youngest brother here will be able to carry out the second of his tasks."

All three Malfoys stared at Severus now. Narcissa was pleading, Lucius looked grim and Draco looked about to faint; Bellatrix, on her sister's other side, gave him a wide, eager smile that was almost as frightening as the Dark Lord's. Severus ignored them all, his mind racing frantically.

"My lord, if I might make a suggestion?" he said quietly, raising his head; he was one of the few who stood high enough to risk interrupting.

The red eyes narrowed a little and there was a definite note of warning in his voice as Voldemort said coldly, "Speak."

"Perhaps I should return to Hogwarts ahead of the rest of us," he said slowly, scrambling for the right words, keeping his voice steady and his face impassive as though he was merely speculating aloud. "Many of your followers have kin in Slytherin House; surely, if we can, we should try to keep them away from any conflict that might arise. It would also be prudent to make sure that the Headmaster has not returned unexpectedly; I do not know when he is due to come back tonight. And... my lord, people are irrational about the safety of their children. If they escape unharmed, we will find far less opposition as we take power; one child accidentally hurt could cause unnecessary problems. That can be dealt with, but it seems more sensible to me to avoid the risk. Your vision of the future must begin with the children we seek to educate."

_Thank God my bullshit reflex is still working. _Given enough time, Severus could argue that up was down and black was white; his eloquence was one of his greatest strengths. What he had just said had been a load of complete crap, but he had included enough key words that – with luck – the Dark Lord would respond by letting him go on ahead; he needed just enough time to give a warning.

Voldemort traced what remained of his thin lips with a pointed nail, considering, watching him thoughtfully – thoughtfully, but mercifully not suspiciously. His gaze swept the table. "Are you all in agreement?"

Severus breathed out; if it went to a vote, he was safe. Unpopular though he was, there were a lot of people here with sons and daughters in Slytherin, and one or two in other houses; nobody, not even Death Eaters, wanted their children hurt. Besides, he had told the truth – there would be far less opposition to a takeover if the children were unharmed. A wave of cautious nods rippled around the table, and the Dark Lord nodded in turn.

"You can get the children out without the other staff noticing?"

"Yes," Severus lied calmly. He probably could hide it from anyone except Dumbledore, but he had absolutely no intention of trying. This was going to be bloody no matter what the final outcome was, and the children should be kept out of it.

"Very well, Severus. Go now. Be ready to act with us tonight; the time for secrecy is past."

Standing, he bowed deeply. "As my lord commands." _Go fuck yourself. _Turning on his heel, he walked out at his usual brisk stride, neither hurrying nor hesitating even as another wave of cramps ripped through him.

* * *

><p>The world spun crazily around Severus again as he Apparated to the well-worn spot beside the Hogwarts gates, but he didn't have time for dizziness and he turned his stagger into an awkward leap skywards, the wind rushing past his face and stinging his skin, making his eyes water. The hot summer night was a dark blur as he streaked towards the castle, his heart hammering against his ribs and his throat tight with panic; because now that push had come to shove, he was bloody terrified. And yet, a small detached part of him was wondering idly why these things always happened in June. It seemed very neat that all the confrontations took place right at the end of the last term of the school year, with minimum disruption.<p>

His landing was one of the worst he had ever made, gravel spraying everywhere as he hit the drive running and ploughed over, skinning both his knees and the heels of both his hands in a way that he hadn't done since he was twelve. Scrambling up, he vaulted up the steps to the door and let himself in before forcing himself to slow to a brisk walk, gulping air and doing his best to act normally as he strode towards the staff room and ignored the fear pounding in his brain.

It was early enough in the evening still that all of them were still present. Where had the time gone? It seemed like years had passed in the last couple of hours. Vaguely aware that the potion was still affecting him, screams still echoing in his head as the pain throbbed somewhere deep, he cleared his throat to attract his colleagues' attention and spoke quietly and clearly. "Minerva, Filius, Pomona, Horace." The four Heads of House, now; with the use of Slughorn's name he'd given the older man back the fortunes of Slytherin House. No choice; he wasn't going to be any good to them after tonight, and they hadn't been his for a long time now. As the four looked at him, he glanced from one to the other and said crisply, "The Blitz."

That code word had been his idea, as had quite a lot of the Order's secret phrases. The benefits of being a half-blood in touch with his Muggle side; he knew things nobody else in the group would understand. He doubted any of the four white-faced men and women staring at him now knew why the Blitz was the order to evacuate; the Second World War had been a Muggle affair and the wizarding world had largely kept out of it. It didn't matter; they knew what the code meant even if they didn't know why.

"Severus, are you sure?" Minerva asked faintly. "Where is Albus?"

He shook his head. "On his way back. There's no time, Minerva. Do it." Whirling on his heel, he stalked out and closed the door behind him and promptly ducked into the closest secret passage, wincing as his arm burned again; not directed at him, not now. Voldemort was gathering the others; time was running out.

As the school erupted into very tightly controlled chaos – they'd had the evacuation plans worked out for months – Severus found a quiet corner and tried with everything he had to summon his Patronus. Minerva would send word to Headquarters and muster the Order, but she wouldn't realise that Dumbledore had no bloody clue what was happening. The memory that sprang to mind was of the Room of Requirement, inevitably; the resulting silver fire was bright enough to all but blind him, brighter than it had ever been, but the damned thing _still_ wouldn't take solid form. Whatever the new shape was going to become eventually, he was reasonably sure that it would still have four legs, but there was nothing of the doe left in the silver haze now; the glimpse of cohesion seemed to be something smaller, although at least it looked a bit larger than an otter. He stared at the amorphous swirl in frustration and swore at it, although why he had expected that to help was anyone's guess, before flicking his wand and letting it fade.

He _had _to warn them before they got back to the castle. The evacuation was well under way; everyone else was busy, and he didn't dare risk waiting by the gates because the Death Eaters might well arrive before them. His mind raced before a frantic idea struck him and he broke into a sprint through the castle, tearing along the corridors, skidding around corners and leaping up the staircases three or four stairs at a time.

By the time he burst into the open air on top of the Astronomy Tower, his lungs were burning and his knees and the muscles of his thighs were killing him, but he was reasonably certain that nobody had covered the distance so fast before. They probably hadn't had his motivation. Gasping for breath, he steadied himself against the battlement and yanked his sleeve back to expose the Dark Mark, black and vividly clear against the pale skin of his forearm. Drawing his wand, he held it carefully, the tip protruding between his fingers while the rest of it lay against his palm and wrist and extended down his arm, the very end of the wood resting against the Mark itself; blinking sweat out of his eyes, he raised his arm skywards, staring up at the stars.

"_Morsmordre,_" he whispered, shuddering as the magic flared and writhed before a single green spark leaped from his wand tip. He tried to track it with his eyes as though it were a firework about to explode, but lost it among the stars until a moment later sickly green light flooded the world as the snake and skull formed above the tower.

It was the best he could do. Dumbledore and the Trio would see it as soon as they arrived at the school gates, and folk down in Hogsmeade would notice it as well and raise the alarm. Voldemort's attack wasn't going to be as stealthy as he had wished. Without more time, there was nothing else he could do.

Staring up at the symbol of everything he had once wanted and now opposed, Severus felt very small and very frightened, despite all his careful plans. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Taking a deep breath, he touched the scar ringing his right arm through his sleeve to try and give himself courage, trying not to think about what he was meant to do now. "May God have mercy on my soul," he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment before turning for the stairs and making his way back through the castle. There was no turning back now.

* * *

><p>After Severus had left so unexpectedly, things had really gone to hell and the cave had become quite dramatic. By the time they had made it back to the school gates, Hermione had been numb, exhausted and shaken and worried about whatever Dumbledore wasn't saying; worry became full-blown panic when the Headmaster didn't seem surprised to see the Dark Mark looming above the castle. He refused to answer any of their questions as the four of them ran up the drive, except to say calmly that things would be all right if they had faith and kept clear heads and that no doubt their friends were safe.<p>

She wasn't sure what to expect when the three of them nervously followed Dumbledore into the Great Hall; at least there were no signs of battle anywhere and the school seemed quiet. Evidently the Headmaster had been right when he had assured them that the teachers would have evacuated the students at the first hint of trouble. He clearly knew what was going on right now, which meant that Severus presumably knew as well, and hopefully others in the Order; Hermione tried to have faith in that and tried to stay calm.

The Great Hall was filled with people. Closest to the doors, the Order of the Phoenix stood in ranks, at least some of them; obviously not everyone had managed to get here in response to whoever had contacted them. Of the staff, only Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were present, and Hagrid with Fang beside him. The Order were facing the other group of people in the Hall; rows of hooded and masked Death Eaters stood in silence on the other side of the room, with Voldemort at their head. The sight of him brought back all Hermione's old nightmares about the battle at the Ministry, but she was more concerned now with trying to find Severus. He wasn't standing with the Order, which was no surprise, but it was impossible to tell if he was one of the faceless people in black standing behind Voldemort. There were far more of them than she had ever dreamed there would be.

Some of the Death Eaters could be identified; Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange were the only women, and Lucius Malfoy was standing beside his wife, recognisable by his cane. Fenrir Greyback too was easy enough to spot by the shaggy matted hair escaping from under his hood, and Crabbe and Goyle Senior could be guessed at from their size, but the others were all anonymous and unidentifiable. The only one without a mask apart from Voldemort himself was Draco, who was standing behind his parents and looked absolutely terrified.

"Ah, Dumbledore," Voldemort greeted them. He was actually smiling, which was one of the most horrible things she had ever seen, his slitted nostrils flaring and his red eyes gleaming. "So glad you could make it. I was afraid we would have to start without you. And you brought the _Golden Trio _with you, as well? Perfect."

Hermione missed whatever the Headmaster said in response as she scanned the Hall again. The Golden Trio had been Severus' nickname for them; her throat tightened painfully as she stared at the masked figures, trying to see if he was there. Everything had come to a head; what if Voldemort had decided that he didn't need Severus any more? He might already be dead for all she knew, especially since he had been in a bad way when he'd left them.

"I quite agree, Dumbledore," Voldemort said icily. "This has gone on long enough. I have had enough of games; let us settle this." He turned and looked back at the massed ranks of his followers. "Draco, step forward."

Draco already looked terrified, but now he went bloodlessly pale as he slowly left the shelter of his parents and ventured uncertainly out in front of the crowd, drawing his wand and clenching it in his fist as he stared at Dumbledore with too-wide eyes and tried to sneer.

"Oh God," Harry whispered from next to Hermione, swallowing. "Poor Malfoy... no wonder he was crying. I didn't realise he'd been asked to do this."

Hermione wasn't really paying much attention, still trying to find Severus with increasing panic. If this was what Draco was being forced to attempt... and Severus had sworn to help him... _Oh, Christ... _

The Headmaster sighed and smiled almost kindly at the terrified boy standing in front of him. "Really, Tom, you must realise I do not intend to allow the boy to go through with this. You've forced him this far. That's enough."

"Forced?" Voldemort repeated, smiling unpleasantly. "You continue to have faith in humanity, Dumbledore... can you not simply accept that not everyone likes you?" His voice hardened to a hiss. "Draco."

The younger Malfoy took a deep breath and raised his wand; his hand trembled for a moment, then steadied, and his expression cleared. Hermione recognised the signs; someone had taught him a bit of Occlumency. Severus? Maybe. Where _was _he?

Draco exhaled and started to speak, then froze, before his eyes closed and he slumped bonelessly to the floor. Someone had wandlessly and non-verbally sedated him; it hadn't been a Stunner, there had been no flash of red light. Dumbledore shook his head and smiled sadly. "Poor Draco. He couldn't have done it, you know. He is not a killer."

Two Death Eaters broke ranks silently, ignoring Voldemort's hiss of anger; Lucius and Narcissa, wordlessly walking forward in unison to lift their son and carry him out of the way. They fell back to their own lines, the black-clad masked figures parting briefly to let them pass and closing around them once more.

Dumbledore looked up with a cheerful smile. "So, Tom, what now?"

"The Dark Lord has planned for this, you old fool," Bellatrix declared; her high, breathy voice sounded just as it had in the Ministry, slightly laughing and completely mad. "My lord, this game has gone on long enough, surely. Let your spy prove his worth, as he swore to do. Draco is clearly unable to fulfil his duty..."

"Agreed," Voldemort said softly after a moment, his horrible smile returning as he glanced briefly to one side. "Come, my spy, it is time for you to proclaim your true allegiance at last..."

Hermione's heart turned over in her chest as a familiar deep silky voice replied quietly, "Yes, my lord," and one of the anonymous figures stepped forward. As soon as he moved, she knew him; nobody else had that liquid, deadly grace. Reaching up slowly, he pushed back his hood and removed his mask, and Severus Snape bowed to Voldemort before turning neutral black eyes to the Order. His face was as expressionless as ever, if a little paler than usual, his eyes cold and empty and guarded.

"Your friends do not seem pleased to see you, Severus," Voldemort noted in a mocking tone of voice.

"No, my lord," he agreed quietly, regarding them all without expression. "I did not expect them to be."

The Order were all staring at him, with fury, shock and betrayal raw and gleaming in every face, and for a moment Hermione wanted to scream at them. How many times had everyone misjudged him, and when had they ever been right? She had no idea what was going on at the moment, but she knew that Severus was no traitor. She hadn't been sure of him in the past either, she had doubted him as much as anyone, but she was sure now, even as he slowly walked across the floor towards them across the area of no-man's-land between the two factions. Unbreakable Vows and mysterious terrifying tasks were all very well, but obviously things weren't what they seemed.

"If anyone moves, you will all be slaughtered where you stand," Voldemort said lazily, watching Severus' progress with gleaming eyes; he was obviously enjoying this display of power. Only then did Hermione pay attention enough to realise that all the Death Eaters – including Severus – had their wands out, but the Order members did not. They were horribly outnumbered, she noticed uneasily, and hoped like hell that someone had a plan.

It seemed to take forever for Severus to walk across the relatively short distance, the tap of his boots the only sound, until he stood in front of Dumbledore and met the Headmaster's eyes stonily. Flicking his wand almost negligently, he said quietly, "_Expelliarmus,_" and Hermione's heart turned to ice in her chest. She stared at him in disbelief as he plucked Dumbledore's wand out of the air and tucked it away somewhere inside his clothes. The Headmaster made no attempt to stop him, merely stood and met his eyes with a grave expression that wasn't remotely surprised.

"Get a move on, Snape," someone yelled from behind Voldemort. "Don't be so dramatic."

Voldemort smiled his horrible smile again; Severus' expression didn't alter by so much as a hair. "Yes, my spy – enjoyable though this is, we have much to do this night."

Sick with horror, Hermione watched numbly as Severus nodded and raised his wand. "As you wish, my lord." His expression still hadn't wavered; his eyes were hard and cold.

It was Hagrid who yelled in a choked voice, "Yeh're a bloody coward, Snape! An' a traitor!"

Severus didn't even blink. "Yes. I am that." His voice was very quiet indeed, and now for the first time Dumbledore wavered and looked a little afraid.

"Severus..." he said softly. "Please..."

Then, finally, Severus' blank expression altered; suddenly his eyes were burning with rage and hate as something snapped, and Hermione's throat closed as everything began to crash down around her. He was really going to do it... he was really going to betray them all, now, after – after everything that had happened... Her vision darkened at the edges, but she couldn't look away from the man she had kissed so desperately not that long ago, who had never been more of a stranger to her.

"Oh, Albus," Severus said almost gently, his soft voice at odds with the savage hate in his eyes. "Don't be such a bloody martyr."

He brought his wand down, and in one swift movement he amputated the Headmaster's right arm just above the elbow.

* * *

><p><em>All right, I admit, this time the cliffhanger was deliberate. I'm going to go and hide now. While I'm cowering and awaiting hate mail...<br>_

_Some more wonderful fan art from the lovely_ _**Ukirra:**_ arriku dot deviantart dot com /art/Chasing-the-Sun-Black-moods-278947703

_I hear PTL has been featured in the SSHG quiz on livejournal, too - **MollysSister **has the details._


	33. Chapter 33

_More insane action ahead, but once things have calmed down there will be explanations, I promise!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Have I no control, is my soul not mine?<br>Am I not just man, destiny defined?  
>Never to be ruled nor held to heel.<br>Not heaven or hell just the land between.  
>Am I not man, does my heart not bleed?<br>No Lord, no God, no hate, no pity, no pain, just me.  
>Comprehend and countermand.<br>Synchronous guidance. I choose my way.  
>Never to be ruled nor held to heel.<br>Not heaven or hell just the land between..."**  
>– VNV Nation, 'Joy'.<p>

* * *

><p>There was a moment of thick, oppressive, ringing silence as everyone stood frozen and stared uncomprehendingly at the two wizards. It had been a professional, bloodless amputation; Dumbledore fell back towards the Order's ranks, clutching at his arm and leaving his blackened hand on the floor.<p>

Severus had an odd, twisted smile on his face as he moved suddenly and swiftly, turning and bringing his wand up and across in a wide arc, and he broke the silence by screaming so loudly that his voice cracked, "_SECTUMSEMPRA_!"

Whatever damage had been done by that spell in those old records, it clearly hadn't been how it was meant to be used. Wielded properly, by its creator, the results were devastating. Half a dozen robed and masked Death Eaters went down screaming and clutching horrific wounds as blood sprayed into the air in scarlet bursts, even as Voldemort howled in sudden outraged realisation, but Severus was already moving – racing across the floor in a blur of black and leaping onto one of the House tables.

"Well?" he snapped as he skidded along the polished wood. "What are you all waiting for? Christmas?"

Without ceremony, he took aim and sent a vicious Entrail-Expelling Curse at the nearest Death Eater, and vaulted off the far side of the table without waiting to see the results as at least three different hexes collided in the space where he had been standing a second before. The air was suddenly filled with magic, and the battle began in deadly earnest.

* * *

><p>It was very different from the fight at the Ministry, Hermione reflected breathlessly; they had been inexperienced children then despite all their efforts with the DA. Now she, Harry and Ron were in a corner, rotating so that two people were fighting while one person stood behind them to catch their breath and keep a lookout, and they were holding their own surprisingly well. The Order had separated into groups and were fighting back to back; she had seen at least some of the Weasleys, and Moody, and a couple of others she hadn't really had time to recognise before everything had kicked off. She had no idea where Severus was at the moment, and she was more frightened for him than she was for herself.<p>

They were horribly outnumbered; the only reason that the Order were still putting up a good fight was that the Death Eaters seemed more interested in punishing the traitor in their midst than in battling their official enemies, and because there were so many of them that they were getting in one another's way in the relatively confined space. The only time she had caught a glimpse of Severus, he had been right in the heart of the fighting, hard pressed but holding his ground; in that brief sighting she had realised that despite all his words in their training sessions, he had been holding back. Now, he was unleashed, and fighting with everything he had; it was both awe-inspiring and rather frightening.

Wiping her face on her sleeve, she touched Ron's shoulder and moved forward to take his place, letting him fall back to rest. "Hurt yet?" she asked hoarsely.

"Nope. Knackered, though," he told her with a grin, leaning back against the wall. "Incoming," he added without much inflection in his voice – they were all a bit numb by now. Turning, Hermione cast a well-aimed Burning Hex and the Death Eater retreated with a snarl to put out the flames licking down his arm.

Harry laughed breathlessly as he sent a Stunner streaking into the crowd – they weren't using lethal spells unless they could see who they were aiming for. "You do have a thing for setting fire to people, don't you?"

She returned his laugh as her gaze swept the chaos anxiously. "Well, it works."

"Speaking of fire, bloody hell!" Ron said from behind them, standing on tiptoe to stare across the hall. "Look at him go!"

"What?"

"Snape! He's just gone charging after someone, and – I don't believe it." He started laughing.

"Ron, mate, if you don't tell us what's going on I'm going to chuck you out there," Harry said as he hastily threw up a shield.

"Sorry, but this is brilliant – Hermione, you've got to see this!"

"I'm a bit busy right now, Ron! Tell me!"

"Well, I can't see for certain, but I'm pretty sure Snape's just jumped on – well, it's got to be Dolohov, because he's using that horrible purple fire spell that Dolohov used on you at the Ministry. I didn't realise he even knew about that."

"He's doing _what_?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Well, we always knew Snape was good at revenge," Harry noted, deflecting another spell. "I guess he took it personally that you got hurt. Still worried about what he feels for you?"

"I'm not so busy that I can't hex the pair of you," she warned, somewhat flustered. She had forgotten that she'd told him who had cursed her, but he had been oddly insistent.

* * *

><p>Leaving Dolohov screaming and choking on his own blood as he began to die slowly, Severus weaved between a couple of battles, taking a moment to regain his breath once more. The hysteria had faded, his Occlumency defences once again saving him from completely losing his marbles, and the world had reduced to the need to stay alive at all costs. Fire burned through his veins and it was as though he had never been injured in his life; he felt ten years younger, keenly aware of his own strength. He would pay for that later, but... he wasn't dead yet. Against unbelievably shitty odds, he had survived the world going to hell around him, and he wasn't going to stop now.<p>

The world had gone mad, Severus decided rather shakily as he took a moment to try and catch his breath, trembling and absolutely terrified and half out of his mind, sky high on near-narcotic levels of adrenaline. It was impossible to think, and in a melee like this thinking was death – you didn't have time to think, only react. Dodge, shield, duck, counter, strike, run, block. He knew his rational mind had gone into shock, because his inner monologue had been reduced to a mindless gibbering repetition of _What the fuck? _

He leaned against the wall for a few seconds' respite, staring around him at the absolute chaos of a couple score of people all trying to kill one another. He'd done this. This was his fault. But what else was he supposed to have done? Murderer or not, Severus knew he couldn't have made himself kill Dumbledore, not and survive it. His sanity was so painfully fragile – possibly it had snapped already. But it wasn't supposed to be like this... No time to think about it. Turning, he plunged back into the madness, looking for Minerva – she would be guarding Dumbledore, and one of them needed to take charge and give the order to retreat. They couldn't win and the longer they tried, the more people would die. The Gryffindors were finally going to have to learn to run.

To his immense relief, he finally caught a glimpse of the Trio, safely tucked into a defensible corner and working pretty efficiently as a team. He'd like nothing more than to join them, but his motivation for this insanity might be a little obvious if he stood guard over Hermione, and he didn't think they really needed his help anyway. He had other things to worry about right now, in any case, as he suddenly found himself facing a pair of very frightened grey eyes as a now-conscious Draco cowered back against his parents.

The noise of the battle seemed to recede as Severus and the Malfoys faced one another. As though this was just a casual chat, as though they had all the time in the world, Lucius raised a hand and unfastened his mask, lowering it slowly and staring hard at him. "_This _is your plan?" he asked icily. "To throw us all to the dogs?"

"I don't have a plan," he replied nonchalantly, trying not to sound too breathless as some of the adrenaline chose that moment to jump ship and abandon him. "I told you I didn't."

"You told me you would protect my son."

"And I have done. He's still alive, isn't he? And he's not a murderer, either. He's not beyond forgiveness, whichever side wins."

Lucius and his wife exchanged glances before Narcissa turned and elegantly fused someone's legs together with something a little more dangerous than the Leg-Locker Curse, keeping the little space around them clear. She turned back and asked mildly, "How did you do it? The Vow..."

"It's a long story," he told her honestly. "I meant it, though. I'm doing what I can." Glancing around, reflexively repelling a curse aimed at his head, he tried not to laugh.

"Severus," Lucius said finally, "have you lost your bloody mind?"

"Yes," he replied simply, shaking his head. "The world's gone mad, so I thought I might as well join in. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing or which side's going to win – there are suddenly a lot more than two. But I'm doing what I hope is the right thing. I think."

"You had better be right," Lucius said after a moment's pause. He hesitated and shook his head, his blond hair straggling around his face. "Why did you do this?"

Taking a risk, he met his friend's sharp grey eyes. "Why have I ever done anything?"

"Ah... I see. Interesting." Lucius arched an eyebrow and almost smiled before turning away and looking at his wife. "Come, my dear. Let us get our son away from this mess. The Dark Lord has other things on his mind right now, since even with only one arm, Dumbledore seems to be doing quite well. Draco, come along. And don't look to your left, Greyback appears to be eating someone. We will talk about this at home. Good luck, Severus."

"Good luck," he replied, bewildered by the irony of such a civilised conversation in the middle of such insane brutality and violence. At least they didn't blame him. Which was more than could be said for almost everyone else, he suspected, a distant flicker of pain overcoming the sting of his injuries and the crackling blankness of adrenaline for a moment.

Ignoring it, he headed for the nearest little knot of Order members. Arthur, Bill, Minerva, Kingsley, Dumbledore – a formidable group under even these circumstances. He had no idea who else had got here in time; his memory of the previous hour was a little sketchy right now. "Run," he told them breathlessly as he reached them. "We'll all be slaughtered unless we get clear now."

"Severus..." The old man's voice was slurred. Shock, presumably; it wasn't blood loss, Severus knew how to do a proper amputation. He shook his head, starting to feel shaky, and turned to look at Minerva instead.

"What happened?" she snapped at him, her accent as thick as he had ever heard it. Briefly and irrationally he wondered if the portraits were watching this, and shook the thought away, a buzz filling his ears.

"Scold me later. Get him to Headquarters. Tell the others to run. I'll get the children out. There's no _time,_" he snapped, already turning away. He glanced briefly across the Hall to check that Hermione was still all right, then grinned recklessly to himself as an approaching figure caught his eye; time to do something really stupid. "I'll distract everyone. Start the Order moving. Trust me, just once more."

* * *

><p>A few minutes later Harry, who was taking his turn to rest, swore suddenly and grabbed Hermione's shoulder, pointing; she and Ron both turned and gasped. Severus was up on the only long House table still intact, duelling with Voldemort himself.<p>

Hermione stared, only vaguely aware of Harry stepping forward and nudging her back into the corner to watch while the boys kept fighting. Severus' robe was in tatters and he'd shrugged most of it away, but what remained stirred and eddied around him, caught in the swirling current of his magic that was also blowing his hair back from his face. Blood was pouring from a shallow gash above one eye, but aside from tilting his head slightly to keep his vision unimpeded he was ignoring it. His eyes were alight, fierce and blazing and more alive than she had ever seen even in the Room of Requirement; this was Severus Snape unleashed, holding nothing back, a creature of instinct and passion and raw power that put the rest of them to shame. There was something primal and savage and oddly beautiful about him as he fought; by contrast, Voldemort was a twisted thing made of darkness and hate.

A momentary lull in the battle made the noise level drop as quite a few people on both sides paused to watch, so they heard Voldemort hiss venomously, "You _dare, _Severus? You are _mine_!"

The entire castle could have heard Severus' furious reply. "No! I'm not yours any more than I am Dumbledore's! _I am my own_!" he snarled thickly, following the words with a swift onslaught of spells that actually had his master backing up a step.

"All this over a dead Mudblood?" Voldemort asked angrily as he retaliated.

Ducking a spell and deflecting another, Severus threw back his head and laughed. "You stupid, arrogant prick," he gasped contemptuously. "You never knew me at all, and nor did Dumbledore. Either of you could have had me, heart and soul, for ever, but neither of you understood a damned thing about me." He bared his crooked teeth in a feral grin and taunted, "Pretty poor for someone who invaded my mind once a week, isn't it? Don't you wonder what else you might have missed?"

He paid for the jibe a moment later when he didn't quite jump clear in time, a jet of red light leaving a deep slash in his side. Looking absolutely livid with fury, Voldemort advanced along the table as he stumbled. "Little fool, you know nothing!"

Dropping to one knee to regain his balance before he fell off the table, Severus looked up through the curtains of his hair and sneered contemptuously, his expression pure scornful Professor Snape. "I know I'm going to see you dead," he promised grimly, before laughing breathlessly as he threw himself off the table, rolling and coming to his feet in one effortless movement. "But not today." He smashed the table out from under Voldemort's feet and bolted back into the heart of the fighting.

"...Okay, your bloke is seriously cool," Ron said after a moment, grinning as Hermione turned to blink at him. "That was awesome. I thought Snake-face there was going to throw a tantrum and start stamping his feet."

"He's right, though, we can't win this today," Harry said worriedly. "We're going to have to run for it, but I don't know where we can go or how we're going to get past that lot to get to the door. Ron and I can Summon our brooms, maybe, but..."

"Then do it," a totally unexpected voice said hoarsely, and all three of them gaped as Severus broke free of the chaos in front of them. This close, they could see that most of his clothes were in tatters; he was bleeding in dozens of places and standing awkwardly, gasping raggedly for breath, but his dark eyes were still blazing and he was actually almost smiling, in a rather unsettling manner. "_Muffliato,_" he rasped, before speaking quickly. "Summon your brooms and get ready. In a moment I'm going to do something that will buy you time to get clear of the castle. Go to St Anne's. I will follow and I will find you there. Don't worry about the Order, they're already starting to leave – you three are the targets. No questions. _Finite. _Go!"

Before any of them could even think of saying anything, he whirled and was gone back into the heart of the crowd, pausing just long enough to castrate a luckless Death Eater before vanishing from sight as his victim collapsed screaming and clutching at the bloody ruin of his groin. Hermione felt no sympathy; she could hazard a pretty good guess as to why Severus had chosen that particular method of injuring whoever it was.

"What –" Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

"Don't argue, there's no time. _Accio brooms_! Where did he want us to go?"

"I know where he meant. Nobody else could possibly know. Get us past the gates and I can Apparate us there," Hermione said, dodging to one side to avoid being clouted by the broomsticks. "God, I hope he knows what he's doing..." she added worriedly, staring at the blood he had left on the floor.

"I think he's got a better idea than anyone else does at the moment," Harry told her reassuringly, half-dragging and half-pushing her onto his Firebolt before climbing on in front of her. "I know I haven't got a bloody clue. Just like riding Buckbeak, hold on to me and look at my back," he added, turning to grin at her – they all knew she was a terrible flier at the best of times.

"Git," she muttered. "What's..."

Her question went unfinished; a moment later every single Death Eater still standing collapsed to their knees or fell over entirely, clutching at their left arms and screaming in agony. She caught a brief glimpse of Severus, white-faced, his gaunt features twisted into a snarl of pain and his right hand pressed to his Dark Mark, before Harry kicked off from the ground and he and Ron shot forward towards the door as the Order began their own retreat.

Whatever Severus had done, it clearly didn't affect Voldemort, who launched himself directly at them with a howl of frustrated fury; even as both boys dodged and zigzagged frantically to try and avoid the jets of spell-light, they heard Severus scream, "_CRUCIO_!" and Voldemort literally fell out of the air, screaming in a horribly inhuman high-pitched buzzing wail of outraged pain.

"Go, go," Hermione gasped breathlessly, burying her face against Harry's back as the brooms shot forward into the night.

* * *

><p>Severus managed to keep Voldemort distracted long enough for the rest of the Order to scatter into the Forbidden Forest and from there begin to make their own way off the Hogwarts grounds; he had more than enough hate in him to fuel a Cruciatus more severe than anything that had ever been directed at him. He wished he had more time to stand here and curse his former master, but the others were recovering from the agony he had sent through the linked Marks and he needed to leave – besides, there was a good reason why he and the others were scared of the Dark Lord. He was good, but he had limits, and he was far from fighting fit now. Dumbledore had triggered the Hogwarts wards before he left with the others; Severus activated them with a smear of his own blood down the wall as he bolted for the door and threw himself off the steps.<p>

How he had the energy to maintain any flight at all was a mystery; he was sky-high on adrenaline and pain and sheer mortal terror, his thoughts sharp-edged and white and concerned purely with surviving long enough to get past the boundary and Disapparate. The terror leaped up another notch at the furious howl from behind him; Voldemort was on his trail, and although Severus had held his own with surprising ease earlier he knew he wasn't truly a match for the Dark Lord even without the toll his injuries were taking on him.

He almost made it; the curse hit him in the back just as he was passing over the gates, throwing him past the boundary and smashing him brutally to the ground in an uncoordinated attempt at a roll. He heard bones break, somewhere, but if he stopped moving even for a second he was going to die; barely aware of the agony flowing along his nerves, he kept rolling, scrambling into a staggering attempt at a run and Apparating between one step and the next, falling forward into whirling blackness.

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes lying flat on his back in an alley in Manchester, late at night and covered in blood. Hardly a rare occurrence around here, he reflected, suppressing a groan of pain. Rolling onto his side, he somehow made it to hands and knees before unceremoniously throwing up – also not unusual around here. The effort of vomiting nearly made him pass out, as did the surge of nausea caused by the sheer amount of physical pain he was in, but he didn't have time for that. He didn't have time to go into shock, either, he told himself sternly, trying in vain to stop his trembling and clenching his jaws to stop his teeth chattering as he hauled himself to his feet and took stock. At least there was no mess; he'd puked so often in the last few hours there was nothing left, not even bile, and his stomach was sore from retching.<p>

He hurt all over, a bone-deep ache born of fatigue and magical exhaustion as much as injury. Several ribs felt cracked, and one shoulder was a throbbing mess of pain that suggested it might well be dislocated, but his left arm hurt so badly anyway that he couldn't tell if it was useable or not. He still held his wand clenched in his right hand; it took a real effort to uncurl his fingers long enough to shove it through his belt out of the way, his hand spasming and cramping.

Leaning against the wall for a moment as his shaking grew worse, Severus closed his eyes, struggling to pull his Occlumency walls back into place; he couldn't afford to think about what he had just done yet. Clearing his mind as best he could, he staggered clear of the alley and began limping unsteadily down the street, occasionally turning his head to one side and spitting blood.

It seemed to be hours before the church came into view; he had seriously misjudged the Apparition. His vision was darkening at the edges and he wanted nothing more than to pass out, but he had far too much to do yet to let himself do so; in any case, he was badly hurt and would need to Heal the worst injuries soon. Severus made no attempt to look for the three of them; they'd be hidden somewhere and watching for him. Instead he weaved almost drunkenly through the churchyard until he could sink down and sit unceremoniously on his father's gravestone, cradling his aching head in his good hand, and waited for them to come and find him.

* * *

><p>Hermione approached him cautiously, the boys a few steps behind her. She could smell the blood on him even from some distance away, but he was upright, at least, even though she could see him shaking. "S-Severus?" she asked uncertainly, realising vaguely that this was only the second time she had ever dared to call him by his first name.<p>

Very slowly he lifted his head; he was very pale, trembling, bloody, and clearly in a great deal of pain, and his dark eyes were remote and Occluded. "Are any of you hurt?" he asked thickly.

"Just cuts and bruises. You?"

"Far worse than that," he replied laconically, "but it'll have to wait. We have to get off the streets. Come on." He hauled himself to his feet with a muffled curse, swaying for a moment before regaining his balance; she saw his hands twitching and recognised the aftermath of the Cruciatus with a wince. "A moment," he said slowly, fumbling his wand out of his belt and pulling what remained of his sleeve to one side to expose the Dark Mark. Laboriously he dragged his wand tip back and forth across the skull and snake design, mumbling, "_Obscurus,_" in a slightly slurred voice as blood flecked his lips, and what looked like a bruise formed on his arm and grew darker, partially concealing it.

"What's that?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Blocks the Mark, temporarily," Severus explained hoarsely. "He could track me through it, otherwise. Weasley, do me a favour and grab hold of my wrist, and pull hard when I tell you." Blinking, Ron came forward and did as he was told. "Now," Severus told him, and yanked back, twisting slightly, reaching up to press at his shoulder with his free hand. There was an absolutely horrible noise and he snarled wordlessly in pain before gently drawing his arm away from Ron's grip and flexing it. "That'll do. Let's go. Quickly."

"You could have just asked me to reset it for you," Hermione told him acidly as they began to follow him down the street away from the church.

"I may need your magic a lot in the next few days to help patch me up again," he replied unexpectedly. "No point wasting it now, especially not after everything else you've done tonight."

"Are you all right?" she asked softly, and he shook his head.

"Don't. I can't afford to be anything but all right yet. Later."

"Later," she agreed reluctantly, falling back to walk with the boys as they followed him silently through the darkened streets. Gradually their surroundings changed, the houses growing smaller and shabbier and closer together, and the streets changed from tarmac and paving to cobbles in varying states of disrepair. Finally they turned down a shabby cul-de-sac of grubby terraced brick houses, several with boarded-up windows; of the three lamp posts in view, one was broken, one was working dimly and the third was flickering on and off. It looked like the Victorian equivalent of a council estate, and screamed industrial working-class North – it could have been straight from the credits of Coronation Street. She exchanged puzzled glances with Harry, both of them wondering what they were doing here. Ron just looked confused; there was nothing like this in the wizarding world.

Severus headed directly for one of the houses at the end of the row. "We're not safe until we're inside," he said tersely.

"Is this an Order safe house?" Harry asked, and he shook his head.

"No. Right now there is no such thing."

"Then how do you know this place is safe?"

Severus gave him a tired look and turned away, reaching the door of the house and fishing in his tattered robe, drawing out a key on a length of grubby string. "Because it's mine."

"You live here?"

"Unfortunately. Now get inside so I can arm the wards," he ordered curtly, unlocking the door and shoving it open with his shoulder. The three of them filed past him into a dark, narrow hallway that smelled strongly of damp, and he slammed the door as he followed them in. There was a click after a moment and a dim light bulb flickered to life overhead, illuminating the cramped entry complete with threadbare carpet and peeling wallpaper.

"Don't the Death Eaters know about this place?"

"Yes, some of them, but it's protected. It's safe enough, at least for now." Severus turned from the door, his expression bleak and harsh. "We stay here until the Order contacts us," he said shortly. "Explore if you want. Not that there's much to see," he added distantly, disappearing through a door that appeared to lead into a kitchen that looked as cramped and shabby as the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

The three teenagers exchanged long, slightly disbelieving looks. A hell of a lot had happened in a short space of time, they were all numb and exhausted and had no idea what was going on, and now... "This place is worse than Headquarters was when we first got there," Ron said flatly. "He really lives here?"

"Apparently," Harry agreed slowly, looking nonplussed. "C'mon, maybe the rest is better..."

It wasn't. The living room was lined with bookshelves, all old and warped by age and damp; the carpet was worn thin, the armchairs and sofa didn't match and sagged alarmingly, and everything was dusty and had an air of neglect. There was no carpet at all on the narrow, creaking stairs, although by the feel of the floor there had been at some point in the past. The paint was grubby and peeling and the musty smell of damp was stronger as they headed upstairs.

Of the three doors on the landing, the first one proved to lead to the bathroom. "At least this is okay," Ron commented, looking relieved.

"It's a lot newer than the rest of the house, that's why," Harry said quietly, looking around. "A lot of old Muggle houses didn't have bathrooms. There was a bathtub in the kitchen by the fire, and the toilet was in a shed in the garden."

"_Weird,_" Ron replied, shaking his head.

"No, they just hadn't invented the right plumbing yet," Hermione explained. "No Vanishing spells or cleaning charms, remember. Come on."

The second door led into the master bedroom, which was clearly unused. The mattress on the double bed looked new, still wrapped in the rather dusty plastic sheet, and there were no sheets or other linen anywhere. The wardrobe doors and the drawers in the chest were all open to air the furniture and were all empty. There was a box on the windowsill that proved to contain a few odds and ends of jewellery – a broken watch, a man's wedding band and a woman's wedding and engagement rings. Apart from a framed picture by the bed, the room was otherwise empty.

Harry picked up the frame, and the other two crowded close to look. It was a black and white Muggle photograph, a wedding picture, the two stationary figures smiling in a forced, posed sort of way at the camera. The groom was tall and lean, with a familiar hooked nose; the bride had long dark hair, heavy brows and thin, pinched features.

"Huh, no wonder Snape looks like he does," was Ron's verdict. "Poor bugger never had a chance, with those two for parents."

"Shut up, Ron," Harry and Hermione said in unison.

Still studying the photo, Harry said slowly, "They don't exactly look happy, do they?"

"Well, I knew he didn't come from a happy family already," Hermione said briskly, feeling a little uneasy at this glimpse of his private world. This was somehow worse than when she had trespassed in his official quarters – and the fact that his real home was even more depressing than those lonely rooms was horrible. "Come on, there's only one room left..."

"Snape's bedroom," Ron said, leering playfully at her. Rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the back of the head as she passed him.

The final room was indeed Severus' bedroom. Smaller than the other two rooms, it was barely large enough for a narrow single bed, an equally narrow wardrobe with drawers underneath it and a rickety desk under the window, which looked out on the overgrown strip that evidently passed for a back garden. Despite the quilt and pillows on the bed and the clothing in the wardrobe, it didn't look much more lived-in than the rest of the house; the only personal touches anywhere were the old, faded Slytherin tie knotted and looped over a corner of the headboard and a dusty cardboard box under the desk.

It was Hermione who picked up the box, putting it on the bed and opening it. There was a jumble of items inside it, and she sorted through it slowly in a kind of morbid curiosity, putting each item on the bed for the boys to look at. A framed certificate that proved to be his Master of Potions diploma. A leather folder that held his OWL and NEWT certificates and a very faded, much folded piece of parchment that turned out to be his Hogwarts letter from 1971. A somewhat creased and faded Muggle certificate confirming that he had passed his driving test in 1984. His Hogwarts contracts of employment, a simple one for a year's Defence and a much thicker one for Potions. An old-fashioned style Slytherin scarf, rather the worse for wear, unravelling at one end and with several holes in it. A key ring holding half a dozen assorted keys, some of which were rusty. A wand sheath, scuffed and worn. Several blank diaries, dated 1979, 1983 and 1991 respectively, that had never been used.

Under all this detritus was an old photograph album that looked seriously in danger of falling apart. Gingerly Hermione lifted it out and exchanged guilty glances with the boys, all three of them silently asking one another what they should do.

"Go ahead," Severus said tiredly from the doorway, scaring the hell out of all three of them. He half-smiled a little at their reactions, but there was no warmth in the expression and it soon faded. He had cleaned himself up a little and discarded what remained of his robe and his coat, and by the look of him had taken several healing potions, but his shirt was bloody and he was leaning against the doorframe for support.

"We don't have to do this now," Hermione said quietly. "You should be resting."

He shook his head wearily. "Not yet. And if we don't do this now, we never will. I'm too tired to do anything stupid, and one of you at least should see it."

The album, when Hermione set it gently on the bed and began to leaf through it, was actually more than half-empty. The first photo made her smile despite herself; a skinny eleven year old Severus scowled very self-consciously at her, looking very embarrassed in his new Hogwarts uniform and fidgeting with the cuff of his robe, as an eleven year old Lily smiled rather shyly next to him. The next photo was of the Evans family, and she shifted to allow Harry to see; Lily looked to be in her early teens, standing beside a girl who looked enough like her to be her sister Petunia, and a smiling older couple stood behind them.

There were a few more pictures like that, snapshots of a family Severus hadn't belonged to; he was in one or two of them in various stages of gangly teenage awkwardness, always off to one side and either scowling defensively or half-smiling sheepishly. There was one photo of the Snape family – Severus looked about five or six, and neither he nor his parents were smiling. Towards the back there was a very old yearbook photo of Eileen Prince in her Hogwarts uniform, holding what turned out to be a Gobstones trophy, and an equally old photo of a Muggle football team that was so faded it was difficult to pick out Tobias Snape in the front row. Apart from that, the album was almost empty, except for a piece of parchment at the back. Hermione unfolded it and stared in confusion before swinging around to look at Severus.

"You kept this?"

"Yes," he replied quietly, meeting her eyes. His gaze still held the almost frightening blankness of Occlumency, but he was using it to block out his pain and exhaustion, not to guard his thoughts.

"What is it?" Ron asked at her elbow; Harry was still looking at the photos.

"A letter I wrote in second year," she said slowly, looking back down at it, "thanking Professor Snape for making the Mandrake Draught after the basilisk Petrified me. I don't understand... Why did you keep it?"

An odd smile twisted his mouth briefly. "Because," he said very quietly, "you were the only student who thought to thank me. I have dealt with dozens of severe crises and accidents during my teaching career, and that note was the first and last thank-you I have ever received from anyone."

Her throat tightened for a moment before she made herself relax. "I see," she said quietly. It shouldn't have been like that for him, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

Slowly he pushed himself away from the doorframe and limped over to the bed. He pawed briefly through the pile, unceremoniously tossing the certificates and the bunch of keys onto the desk and throwing the junk back in the box before turning his attention to the photograph album. He picked out the photos of his parents and Hermione's letter and put them on the desk before gesturing vaguely at Harry.

"Take what pictures you want, Potter. I don't want any of them any more. I know you have some pictures of your mother, but I don't think you have any of your grandparents or your aunt."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said quietly as he selected two or three photographs.

Severus snorted wearily. "I think we're past 'sir' now, don't you? Apart from anything else, I'm reasonably certain that cutting limbs off your employer is grounds for dismissal even if there was a school left for me to teach at." He pitched the album and the rest of the photos into the box, then dropped it outside the bedroom door and leaned against the doorframe once more, rubbing his eyes. "Which of you has the least conspicuous Patronus?" he asked tiredly.

"Ron's is a terrier."

"That'll do, then. Weasley, do you know how to send a message via Patronus?"

"Yes..." Ron choked off an automatic _sir _from the end of the sentence.

"Send it to Professor McGonagall, then. Tell her that the four of us are safe for now and we'll contact her again in a couple of days if we don't hear from the Order before then. I'd send another to your parents, too."

"You need to rest," Hermione told him worriedly.

He gave her a long look. "If I stop now, I'm going to collapse, and I probably won't wake up. I need to take a couple more potions and mend a couple of things first. No, don't help me. Sort out sleeping arrangements. I'll only be downstairs... my supplies are in the cellar."

* * *

><p>By the time they went looking for him, he had been gone long enough for the three of them to take it in turns to clean up and to get into an argument about the beds, and for several people to have sent Patronuses demanding to know where they were. When he was told of this, Severus made a suggestion about what the Order in general and the Headmaster in particular could do with their Patronuses that had the boys staring at him in awed delight and made Hermione scowl. "You need to sleep," she told him in a brittle voice.<p>

"We all do," he agreed hoarsely, looking about ready to drop where he stood. "Who's sleeping where?"

"Ron and Harry will take your parents' room..."

He nodded. "Fine."

"And you're sleeping in your room."

"No, I'm not," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Told you so," Harry muttered.

"Sir – _Severus, _you're hurt, and you're exhausted."

"Neither of which are new occurrences for me." He shook his head and gave her a very tired look. "I don't think I can physically climb the stairs. You Transfigured the sofa? That'll do, then. I'm too tired to care and I'm too tired to argue." He rubbed his eyes. "Are any of you hurt?"

"No. We only had a few cuts and bruises, we're fine. But... what's going on? I mean..."

He nodded wearily. "I know, but I am literally minutes from going into a coma. We should all get some sleep; it's been an insane few hours. We'll deal with everything tomorrow... we have a great deal to sort out."

Ron and Harry both exited surprisingly tactfully and disappeared upstairs; Hermione followed Severus into the living room, watching as he dropped onto the edge of the Transfigured cot and bent to laboriously remove his boots. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

He lifted his head and looked at her with dull eyes. "Probably not," he replied honestly. "But I'm too tired for anything else right now. Tomorrow, Hermione. Even I will sleep like the dead tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough to talk. For the moment, we are safe."

Hesitating, she came forward slowly and rested a hand on his shoulder. He shivered slightly and turned his head to rest his cheek against her hand, exhaling heavily in a long sigh. "I'll be all right. I'm too tired to dream. So are you. Go to bed."

She wanted to stay with him, but she sensed that he wanted to be alone just for tonight, and in any case she was utterly exhausted and wanted to go to sleep before her brain woke up and made her think about what had happened. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder before turning away. "Good night."

"Good night," he echoed softly as she closed the living room door behind her.

* * *

><p>When Hermione woke up, she was conscious of several things. There was sunlight filtering around the somewhat threadbare curtains. She was starving hungry. She ached from head to foot and still felt tired. And the bed smelled like Severus. Rolling over, she snuggled deeper into the hollow in the middle of the mattress, concentrating on his scent; this house had a very unhappy atmosphere, but she had slept long and deeply because of that subtle and oddly reassuring smell of him.<p>

She heard the plumbing creaking and complaining briefly twice as the boys visited the bathroom, and finally reluctantly forsook the small comfort of the bed to do the same. Without clean clothing, a comb, some shampoo, some toothpaste and a lot of time, there was a limit to what she could do with her appearance, but she did the best she could and drank some water, starting to feel marginally more human.

Meeting up with the boys on the landing, she led the way cautiously down the stairs. The door to the living room was open and Severus was up and about, shambling around the shabby kitchen. He was moving slowly and gingerly, holding himself stiffly, and he was still wearing his bloodstained and torn shirt, but he had washed and shaved and looked a lot better than he had done yesterday – probably due to the coffee she could smell.

"Sit," he grunted by way of greeting. "Drink. It's black coffee, tap water or nothing; I don't have anything else here. We have a lot to talk about."

"And to do?" Harry guessed as they helped themselves to coffee.

"Yes," he agreed wearily. "First things first... we will need to visit Headquarters today, to decide what happens now. I will have a great deal of explaining to do; I'm not discussing it right now. We have more immediate concerns."

"Is this house safe?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Yes. Very few people have ever known where I live, and most of them are dead. The Dark Lord does not know, nor do the Order."

"How are you, physically?" Hermione asked softly.

Severus appeared to be considering the question, his eyes half closed. "Tired. Sore. Alive," he replied finally. "I just need time, I think. One thing I need to do, soon, is remove the Dark Mark, but I'm not strong enough yet. I'll need a day or two of rest before I attempt that."

"You can remove it?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Yes. It isn't even particularly difficult once you stumble on the right idea."

"Then why didn't you?"

Severus gave him a withering look and buried his face in his coffee once more, not bothering to answer. When he surfaced he continued where he had left off. "For now, the Mark is blocked; I cannot be traced through it. That will last for a few days before I will have to remove it." He took a breath and let it out. "The three of you need to decide what you are going to do next."

"What are our choices?" Harry asked carefully.

Severus shrugged stiffly and sat back in his chair. "There are still several Horcruxes to destroy. I know where Hufflepuff's cup is, but not how to get to it. And there is Nagini. I..." He hesitated. "Yesterday, I broke with not only the Dark Lord but with Dumbledore. I do not wish to work for him any longer. If you choose to return to the Order, I will aid you, but not directly; I no longer consider myself one of them. I will continue on this path – alone if I must."

They exchanged glances. Finally Harry said slowly, "Tell us everything. Tell us what happened yesterday, why you did what you did."

"Good; now more than ever, you cannot afford to act without thinking." Severus rubbed his eyes. "I will explain everything to the Order today – to Minerva, at least, and to the three of you, and possibly one or two of the others. Then we must all decide what we will do."

A loud noise outside the window had all of them frantically grabbing for their wands, but it turned out to be Hedwig and Pigwidgeon. Both owls looked tired and somewhat ruffled but seemed very pleased to see their respective owners; to nobody's surprise, Pig carried a note from Mrs Weasley. Ron opened it at the kitchen table as Hermione dug out some water for the birds. "Not much. Ginny got out safely when everyone was evacuated and the others are fine, just cuts and bruises apparently. She says Dumbledore's probably going to tell us what's been happening so she won't say much. She wants us to go home but she says she knows we probably won't, so we're to be careful until we next see her." He grinned. "And we're to be good."

Harry picked up the letter he had taken from Hedwig's foot. "This isn't for me, it's for Snape. It looks like McGonagall's writing; that's weird."

"Not really," Severus said wearily. He rubbed his eyes. "It's a little difficult to write if your dominant hand is missing. Dumbledore's been using a Dicta-Quill since he was cursed but I suppose he doesn't have it with him at the moment. Besides, I imagine he isn't feeling his best right now." Moving forward a little stiffly, he took the letter from Harry and leaned against the worktop to open it, slowly reading through before closing his eyes for a moment. "Damn."

"What?" Hermione asked quickly.

"We lost people," he replied briefly, sighing. "Kingsley died a couple of hours ago, and Moody never made it out of Hogwarts. Tonks is hurt quite badly, but not fatally, and is expected to recover. Hestia Jones is dead as well, although I don't think any of you ever met her – she was killed in an unrelated fight sometime yesterday."

After a pause, Harry asked in a small voice, "What happened? Does it say?"

"They don't know what happened to Kingsley. He got hit with a couple of curses that reacted with each other, and they couldn't undo it in time. Tonks caught the edge of a nasty jinx that essentially creates blood poisoning. It will take a while to clear it from her system, but they caught it early – it was probably Bellatrix; nobody else is insane enough to use something like that in combat. As for Moody, if I'd been thinking about it I wouldn't have expected him to get out of there. A _lot _of the Death Eaters had personal grudges against him – including me, if I am honest. That eye of his isn't much use in a melee like that and he wasn't as quick as he used to be."

"What about everyone else?" Hermione asked softly. She'd liked Kingsley. She hadn't liked Moody all that much, but he'd been a brave man. Neither of them had deserved that.

"Minor injuries, apparently. Nothing else is mentioned, although I doubt everyone got out unscathed." He breathed out slowly, then came to the table and Summoned quill, ink and parchment. "Potter, may I borrow your owl? We need to see Professor McGonagall, sooner rather than later."

"Yes. Are you up for another flight to London, Hedwig?" She hooted softly at him and settled to preening one wing patiently.

Severus began to write; his hand was trembling a little, Hermione noticed, but nothing too bad. "I know you have pieced together a lot of the story by now, but equally I know you don't know everything. I need you to co-operate for just a little longer, until you have heard my explanation." He still sounded so very tired.

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><p><em>Next chapter, Severus is going to explain just what the hell is going on, you'll be pleased to hear!<em>

_More fan art, from **Noweia: **_noweia dot deviantart dot com /art/At-The-Gates-279410263_  
><em>


	34. Chapter 34

_The 3000th review was caught far earlier than I thought we'd reach it. Congratulations to **FionaTyne. **My review count has gone insane over the last few chapters... keep it up!  
><em>

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><p><strong>"He who asks the questions cannot avoid the answers."<strong>  
>– Cameroonian proverb.<p>

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><p>It was Lupin who met them at the door to 12 Grimmauld Place, looking haggard and angry. "They're in the kitchen," he told Severus in a low voice, giving the other man a seriously unfriendly look. Severus ignored it, naturally, but Hermione suspected it was because he hadn't actually noticed rather than because he had chosen to. She and the boys followed Severus into the kitchen; as they reached the doorway she saw him take a deep breath and square his shoulders, and he stalked in as though he owned the place, abruptly bold and confident once more. She had to admit, it was a magnificent bluff. Movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she glanced sideways to see Phineas; the portrait saluted her with a grave expression and actually smiled a little.<p>

The kitchen was almost empty, save for Professor McGonagall and Mrs Weasley sitting at the table. The Transfiguration teacher opened her mouth, but Severus spoke before she could say anything, his voice crisp and assured and leaving no doubt that he expected an answer. "Before anything else, what condition is Dumbledore in?"

Mrs Weasley answered over the boys' heads; she'd hurried forward to hug Ron and Harry the second they had entered. "Poppy is tending him upstairs, along with Tonks. You were right that he isn't going to be fit to lead for a while, but he should recover..."

"The two of you, and these three, are going to hear what's really going on," Severus said quietly, crossing the room to lean against the worktop, shifting his weight to one side. "Minerva, don't interrupt me, please. I know you've been trying to put the pieces together for months. Now I'm going to tell you _almost _everything. Firstly, what happened yesterday? While the evacuation was under way I went to the roof to raise the alarm. By the time I got back, less than half our force had showed up and you were all standing meekly listening to the Dark Lord rambling about how clever he was being. You weren't even armed. What _happened_?"

"Hestia's team weren't free to answer Minerva's alarm. They were attempting another raid on the Auror base in Birmingham with the information Alastor gave us last week..."

"Damnit. I _told _you that was a trap! Rookwood spent months setting that up." He sighed heavily. "So..."

"We were horribly outnumbered, Severus," Mrs Weasley explained softly, finally letting the boys go. Giving Hermione a hug as well, she ushered them all to the table and started gathering food. Ron tucked in first, but after a moment Harry and Hermione remembered that it had been a _very_ long time since yesterday's dinner and joined in enthusiastically, listening intently as they ate.

Mrs Weasley continued quietly, "There was nothing we could do. By the time we reached the school, You-Know-Who and the others were already inside – I don't know how. They were ready for us; we weren't ready for them. We had no choice but to wait for Dumbledore to come back. And, too, we were stalling for time; the evacuation took longer than we thought. Once Albus showed up, he seemed so calm, we all thought it was part of his plan..."

Severus nodded and leaned back against the wall, gathering his thoughts. Professor McGonagall looked about to speak, but held her tongue when he looked at her. Finally he straightened up. "Back to the beginning, then. Draco Malfoy was initiated as a Death Eater last summer, despite not being of age, and he was sent to Hogwarts with two instructions; to find a way for Death Eaters to enter the castle, and to kill Albus Dumbledore."

"I knew it!" Harry said with his mouth full, and fell silent when his Head of House glared at him warningly.

"Shut up, Potter," Severus said tiredly. "He didn't want it. The whole thing was a farce, a means of punishing Lucius for his failure at the Ministry. Draco was never intended to succeed. In any case, his mother came to visit me shortly after that, to beg me to help him; I have been a friend of the Malfoys for many years, and Draco is – or was, rather – my godson. Bellatrix, Narcissa's sister, was with her. Between them, they pushed me into making the Unbreakable Vow, as I believe you know."

"Why did you do that?"

"Outwardly, to prove my loyalty to the Dark Lord. In reality, I did so on Dumbledore's orders. He had damaged his hand a short time before by trying to wear that ring and triggering the very nasty curse that began to destroy him almost immediately. My best efforts were only just sufficient to temporarily bind the curse into his hand and hold it back for a time."

"Is that why you cut his arm off, yesterday?" Professor McGonagall asked. "For a moment I thought you were going to kill him."

Severus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I should have done."

"_What?_"

"I should have done," he repeated grimly; his voice had turned a couple of shades colder. "That was the plan. The curse is a very dark corruption spell and it has no cure. Dumbledore has been dying for the past year. He has known it ever since last summer."

There was a very long silence. Hermione had put together some of the puzzle, she had worked out that Voldemort was expecting Severus to kill Dumbledore if Draco couldn't do it, but she hadn't realised Dumbledore supported that plan, because it just seemed so insane. She cleared her throat. "That's what the Headmaster asked you to do, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "That's the mysterious task nobody knew about."

Severus nodded. His black eyes were cold and empty and emotionless. "Yes. He told me to kill him when the time came, in such a way that the Dark Lord would be convinced of my loyalty. I suspect several motives for this decision, but the one he admitted to was his hope that I would then be placed in charge at Hogwarts by the Dark Lord and would be in a position to protect the children as well as aiding the three of you in your own task."

He smiled bitterly. "How I was supposed to do that, when I am convinced that he never had any intention of telling anyone else his plan and would therefore be condemning me to universal hatred and mistrust, I do not know, but apparently he believed you would trust his murderer? In any case, that was the plan. He gave me the Dark Arts post at last because one way or another I would no longer be teaching at Hogwarts at the end of the year and because it might be the last chance I had to teach the three of you to defend yourselves properly; also because he needed Slughorn under his eye, and of course because nobody else applied. He did not intend that I should learn of the real plan until after he was dead – possibly not even then; he always did like making me follow orders blindly."

He rolled his shoulders stiffly and looked at the two older witches. "So, that is what has been happening all year. I went along with the plan because I didn't think I was going to live long enough for it to matter, but a couple of months ago I discovered what task Dumbledore has given Potter and his friends, and I decided to change the rules."

Hermione had to look down to hide a rueful smile; that was a hell of a way to sum up the past six months or so. He'd skipped over a torturous near-death experience and an extremely passionate, heated and probably illegal kiss, as well as quite a bit of conspiring behind Dumbledore's back and a lot of meddling from portraits of dead people – one of whom was sniggering very softly, just out of sight, and the other was no doubt absolutely furious that she couldn't be present.

Severus continued as though he hadn't said anything unusual, "Originally I wanted to break the Unbreakable Vow. I had sworn it initially in the name of my godson; I therefore disowned Draco formally. Naturally, it didn't work," he added dryly. "It was never going to be that simple. But it did weaken the Vow, at least, which presumably made last night possible."

"What happened last night?" Professor McGonagall asked quietly; she had a rather distant expression and was obviously thinking very hard about what he had already revealed. "Amputating the cursed hand... why didn't you do that before?"

He gave her an odd look and sighed. "It hasn't cured him. I told you, the curse is fatal. Removing the original source has slowed its advance and bought us time, nothing more – if it would have cured him, we could have done it months ago. And to achieve even that much, I betrayed everything."

"Then why do it? Albus was... I have never seen him so angry."

He sighed again, looking very tired now, and his voice was softer as he replied, "I did it because I couldn't have killed him and survived. I've seen enough death. I hate him, but I've known him since I was a boy and my sanity could not have taken any more. Besides, his plan wouldn't have worked. He refused to tell any of you; you would have believed, as you did briefly last night, that I had betrayed you all and gone over to the Death Eaters once more. None of you would have trusted me. I could have achieved nothing useful. In addition, as the Dark Lord's Headmaster, I would have had to make Hogwarts a place of nightmares none of you can even begin to imagine. Children would have been hurt, probably killed, and I would not have survived the experience with my mind intact. Far better to close the school and focus all the Order's resources on fighting the other side, under a leader who knows what is going on, instead of having you all flailing around like headless chickens while Potter and his friends were left alone and unprotected for their own task and I was forced to torture your children until I went insane."

There was quite a long silence following that. Severus leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes briefly, clearly nearing his limits once more. Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron before sitting back and biting her lip absently, thinking hard, fitting the pieces together properly, as Mrs Weasley and Professor McGonagall exchanged troubled looks.

"I suppose I can see your point," Professor McGonagall said faintly at last, sounding a little uneasy. "Put like that, it doesn't sound like much of a plan. But this is all very hard to believe, Severus... can you prove it? I don't mean to doubt, but..."

"He's telling the truth," Phineas said quietly, appearing in the small picture frame by the back door. "Every word. Listen to him, Minerva. Your lives and the outcome of this war may depend on this conversation. You haven't heard it all yet."

Severus opened his eyes again and nodded grimly. "The Order don't need to know any of this. I'm telling the two of you so you can hold things together. Minerva, you're going to have to take over from Dumbledore. I don't know how long he has to live; I estimated just over a year, and that was last summer. Removing his hand has bought a little time to add to that, but he cannot have more than six months left at best and it is more likely to be far less than that. He cannot lead you now. The other reason I challenged his plan is because I believe the curse has reached his brain. That plan I have just described to you is not sane, and I have begun to seriously doubt his judgement in recent months. His actions have become less rational. You will have to explain this to him somehow."

"You speak as if you won't be part of this, Severus," Mrs Weasley said faintly; Professor McGonagall had gone rather pale.

He gave her his crooked half-smile. "I hereby resign from the Order of the Phoenix. I know the real task that Dumbledore gave to Potter and his friends, and that is what I shall be doing from now on. I'm not going to tell you what it is; it is far safer if nobody else knows, but it's how we're going to win. I cannot help you now, Molly. I'm not a spy any more, after all."

"What of You-Know-Who? Can he find you?"

"No," he replied, without elaborating. "The time has come to discuss the future. You three need to decide what you're going to do. You know what's at stake. Pick a side."

Hermione sat back and looked at Harry calmly; she had made her choice a long time ago. He looked at her and grinned briefly before glancing at Ron, who nodded with a matching grin. Looking back at Severus, Harry shrugged. "We're going with you."

"What?" Professor McGonagall sounded startled, as well she might.

Severus barked a mirthless laugh. "We have finally reached a truce of sorts over the past year, Minerva. Their task – _our _task, now, I suppose – is too important. They will need my help anyway, with Dumbledore out of action."

"I have a question," Hermione said softly. He looked at her with a flicker of a smile in his eyes, and she asked, "What about the Unbreakable Vow? You said you hadn't broken it, only weakened it. What happened in the Great Hall, if you didn't kill the Headmaster?"

"Ah. I am not entirely certain," he admitted candidly. "I knocked Draco out, by the way, in case you hadn't worked that one out. Dumbledore was right that he couldn't have done it, and this way he won't be punished for failing his second task, not when he successfully brought the Death Eaters into Hogwarts – I'd like to know how he did that," he added thoughtfully. "I left the meeting before that was revealed. Anyway, it kept Draco safe, which is likely to be far more important than it seems. As for the Vow..."

Pausing, he shifted his weight again and rubbed his eyes once more; his fingers trembled slightly. He clearly wasn't recovered from the fights of yesterday. "It is still there. But there was no time frame specified in the words. Draco is still physically capable of killing Dumbledore; the fact that he will never be in a position to do so is immaterial. It could theoretically still happen, so the Vow has not compelled me to do so. That may not still be the case should I meet with Dumbledore again, so I dare not see him. If the Vow activates, I will have to kill him, or die myself. I think, if he dies of natural causes before the Vow can be fulfilled, it will simply fade away once it is no longer relevant. It may not; I may feel it and be called on to kill him once he truly begins to die. I really don't know."

"When did you come up with your plan?" Harry asked.

Severus paused for a moment and looked down, a very slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "As I was walking towards Dumbledore in the Great Hall, less than twenty four hours ago. Until that point, I thought I would have to kill him."

"Did you know it would work?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

"I wasn't completely sure, no, but the logic was sound. And since I am still alive, I am inclined to call it a victory." His eyes glittered for a moment, daring her to say anything else, and she bit her tongue; she could always kill him later, less publicly.

"What was that thing you did at the end, when we left?" Ron asked. "When everyone started screaming?"

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "The Dark Mark is a conduit. I took control of the link that the Dark Lord normally uses; in effect, I sent a full-strength Summons through it. We were all in close enough proximity for it to hurt a lot more than it usually does. It didn't affect him, naturally, since he does not possess the Mark himself, but it distracted everyone else."

"It hurt you as well," Hermione pointed out, and he gave her a rather blank look as though he didn't see why that made any difference.

"All right," Professor McGonagall said heavily. "For the moment, let us assume that you're right. I'll need to talk to Albus before I decide one way or the other, but I can see the logic behind your actions. So, the four of you will be doing some mysterious task. What about the rest of us?"

Severus frowned, staring into the distance. "I don't know much, but we must assume the worst, I think... I was never going to be involved in any of the Ministry plans so I don't know everything they wanted to do, but I know enough to give you a general idea. They will attempt to Imperio the Minister but if it doesn't take hold they'll simply kill him and replace him, and kill anyone who objects. It's going to be a brutal coup and it's probably already happened. The Dark Lord's goal is complete control. He's going to demand that every witch and wizard in Britain registers their blood status publicly, and he intends to arrest every Muggleborn, although I don't know what exactly he wants, whether he'll kill them or if he has something else in mind. He intended to run Hogwarts as a training ground for junior Death Eaters, too, but with no teachers and only a handful of pupils I don't think it very likely; he has nobody he would trust as Headmaster, now, either," he added with a certain amount of satisfaction. "Even so, the school was important to him and I don't think he'll give it up lightly. There's probably already a price on Potter's head, and probably mine as well, although it will take them a while to get around to everyone else. The Ministry will be brought to heel – he's been working on it for months. Threats, blackmail, compulsion magic, whatever it takes. They will fall, and soon."

"Won't your defection cause problems?" Hermione asked. "Will he stop to look for other traitors?"

"I don't know. He will do at some stage, but he can't afford to waste time. His plans haven't worked; Dumbledore is still alive and the Order is still very much a threat. He has to move quickly before we all have time to regroup and oppose him. Besides, I was the only one he couldn't be sure of; some of the others have rudimentary Occlumency skills, but nowhere near strong enough to resist him. If he were sane, it might make him wary, but as it is I think he'll carry on regardless."

"So Vol –" Harry started, and choked on a Silencing charm.

Severus looked at him and shook his head slowly. "Do _not _use his name now. I should have thought to mention it earlier. By now, with Hogwarts fallen, they'll already be in the Ministry; one of their first planned actions was to set up a Taboo. Anyone using the Dark Lord's name will be traced and attacked, because only Order members are brave enough and stupid enough to do so. We're protected here, but I'm sure Dumbledore has said the name often enough to draw a lot of attention." He looked back at Professor McGonagall. "You need to get the Order organised and make sure the safe houses are protected, then work on creating underground opposition – you can't fight them openly now. There are too many of them and too few of you."

"_Viva la Resistance,_" Hermione muttered sarcastically, and he offered her a quick half-smile in wry appreciation, nodding.

"Yes. I'm sure you can find some ways of causing chaos, Minerva – you have plenty of Gryffindors skilled at causing mayhem. I can't give you any more specific advice. Just... let the country know the Order is still resisting. Let them see there is still a choice. Try not to get killed in stupidly noble ways."

"What do I tell the rest of the Order when they ask what's going on and why this is happening?"

"I don't care," he replied bluntly. "I'm going to have enough to do without worrying about that. Tell them to shut up and do as you say. You've taught most of them, they'll listen."

"Funny. What are you going to be doing? I know you won't tell us the specifics, but where will you be?"

"Somewhere safe," Severus replied unhelpfully. "I will reopen the Floo connection between there and here, but it's going to be guarded, nothing's going to get through unless I want it to. And we'll be able to be reached by Patronus or owl."

"Do you need anything?" Mrs Weasley asked quietly.

He almost smiled. "Well, these three will need clothes and so on. We're not going to have much time for shopping, really, and we all left Hogwarts with nothing."

"I can send some of Ron's things from the Burrow... they'll be a bit big in the shoulders for you, Harry, but they'll do. Hermione, you can't really wear Ginny's clothes, can you?"

That was a tactful way of pointing out that she was shorter and curvier than her red-headed friend; Hermione smiled gratefully and shrugged. "Not easily, but I can Transfigure clothing. Whatever you can send would be lovely, thank you."

"What about food and things?"

Severus almost smiled. "Molly, I've been looking after myself since I was their age. They won't starve or live in filth. I may even refrain from killing any of them, if we're busy enough and if they manage to behave."

"Poppy told us earlier that you have been supplying our potions for the past – well, decade or so, actually," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "Is that true?"

"Yes. What of it?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Poppy is more than capable of brewing anything you are likely to need. In the event of unforeseen circumstances, contact me and I'll see what I can do."

"What about Remus' Wolfsbane?" Mrs Weasley asked.

He shook his head slowly. "No. I don't have the facilities to make something that complex, or a way to obtain half the ingredients, and I won't have time to come back here and work on it." He smirked unpleasantly. "You're going to have to go back to locking him up somewhere. Lupin is not terribly high on my list of priorities right now. Is there anything else?"

"I'm sure I'll think of things to ask later," Professor McGonagall said with a sigh, "but for the moment I suppose we have enough to be going on with. I will have to talk about all this with Albus and see what he says... but Severus, I wish you had told me at least some of this before now."

_You and me both, _Hermione thought sourly, watching as Severus shrugged uneasily. "I couldn't, Minerva. I... I am sorry it has turned out like this," he added awkwardly, looking away. "If things work out..."

"Oh, go away," she said with an inelegant snort. "We both know you won't tell me a damned thing no matter what happens. Just make sure you look after my Gryffindors, or I will skin you." She turned to look at the three of them. "And you are to behave yourselves. I don't know what's going on but I don't want to have to explain your sudden and messy deaths to anyone. _Be careful._"

Caught off guard, Hermione joined in the mumbled chorus of, "Yes, Professor," before submitting to another of Mrs Weasley's strangling hugs. As she watched the boys enduring the same treatment, she glanced at the small picture frame on the wall, meeting Phineas' gaze.

"Good luck," the portrait told her softly. "Hopefully we will meet again."

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><p>The four of them headed back to Spinner's End in silence; Severus was staring at nothing with slightly glassy eyes, clearly utterly exhausted, and the others had a great deal to think about. Trailing after him into the kitchen, they settled around the battered table.<p>

"What's going to happen to Hogwarts now?" Harry asked in a subdued voice after a moment of them looking awkwardly at one another. "Will Vol – uh, You-Know-Who stay there?"

"No," Severus replied quietly. "It's too far from everywhere else for him to use it as a viable base of operations, for a start. Besides..." He paused, frowning pensively, and slowly shook his head. "The castle would not permit it. You know how responsive the building can be. As it rejected Umbridge, it will reject the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. The ghosts and the house elves are still there and would not hesitate to fight, as will the inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest."

"Could we go back there? I mean the Order, but maybe we could pick up some stuff too."

"He'll have it guarded. In some ways he is much like a child with too many toys – he may not be able to play with it himself, but he'll never allow anyone else to do so. In his own twisted way he does care about Hogwarts, a little. We are fortunate that he is not going to stay there, since he might discover his Horcrux is missing if he were. But you will have to do without your broom for a while – unless you expect me to believe you were intending to collect your homework," he added dryly. "And even if he didn't place guards, the castle is no longer safe for anyone."

"Why?"

"It's rather complicated, but as we all left the building, Dumbledore activated the high-level wards – you have no idea of the security in place at Hogwarts. I don't know how it works, not fully; the Headmaster is the only one who does. Once he had done so, I switched them on as I left, using my blood. As I said, it is complicated, but that put the castle into war mode, I suppose. It will be resistant to any witch or wizard except its master, and openly hostile to any adults. It won't be safe until it has been cleansed. Don't ask me exactly how it works, because I don't know."

"Is it safe here?" Ron asked. "I mean, I know you said You-Know-Who doesn't know where it is, but does anyone else?"

"It's safe," Severus answered. "I would not be here if it weren't, let alone dragging you three here. For one, absolutely nobody is ever going to imagine that you lot would be staying with me, are they? They'll assume you're at Headquarters or the Burrow, or another safe house they don't know about. Nobody in the Order knows where I live – I caused a lot of problems when I first became a teacher by flatly refusing to give Dumbledore my address and by removing the record of where I lived while I was a pupil. But you are no doubt referring to Bellatrix and Narcissa? Narcissa modified her sister's memory when they left, as a favour to me, and said that I had done it to both of them. She still knows, and so does Lucius, but they owe me and they will not give me away. I'm willing to bet all our lives on that."

"Pettigrew was staying here last summer," Harry pointed out, before grimacing. "Oh, gross. Where was he sleeping?"

"I wouldn't let him in the main house. There used to be a hidden room behind a bookshelf in the living room. After he had been living there for a while, I felt the need to destroy it. I'd never be able to use it again," he replied with an expression of acute distaste. "In any case, he isn't going to be a problem, believe me. He can't tell anyone."

"What's going to happen to the Malfoys?" Hermione asked. "Draco didn't do what he was supposed to. Will he be all right?"

"I think so," Severus replied, sounding a little doubtful. "He should be. He did succeed in getting everyone into the castle, and he at least appeared to be about to kill Dumbledore. And now that I have... resigned... Lucius is his only reliable lieutenant; Bellatrix is frankly insane. Narcissa can prove that she took my Vow, with her sister's aid, and that they had no knowledge of what I was planning. They should be fine, if they survive the Dark Lord's initial tantrum over my betrayal."

"How can you trust them?" Harry asked.

Severus regarded him steadily. "Lucius was the Slytherin prefect when I first went to school. I have known him since I was eleven, and Narcissa almost as long. I was at their wedding, and I was there when Draco was born. To you they are Death Eaters. To me, they are my friends. They know what I have done for their son, and what they owe me. I trust them. Is that _acceptable _to you?" he asked, with an edge to his voice that showed how tired he still was.

"You can't blame me," Harry retorted. "Since I first met Mr Malfoy, he's given a Horcrux to my girlfriend that almost killed her, put my friends in danger and nearly brought You-Know-Who back; almost got my friend's Hippogriff executed out of sheer spite; tormented some Muggles and nearly started a riot at the Quidditch World Cup, watched me be tortured in a graveyard and then tried to kill me and my friends over a prophecy."

After a moment Severus' lips twitched. "I admit you haven't seen him at his best," he said dryly, and looked amused as they stared at him. "Lucius is an arrogant, pompous idiot, as well as a ruthless bastard when he has to be, but he isn't a monster. He wants power and wealth because he enjoys it, but mostly he wants a better life for his wife and son. He dislikes Muggleborns because that increase in our population means less wealth and power to go around and because his family is very old and has tradition behind it; he doesn't truly believe them inferior. In fact he has spent the past couple of years complaining about Draco being outshone by a certain Muggleborn Gryffindor," he added, smirking a little. "He'll take the winning side, but he is hardly alone in wanting that. This isn't what he signed up for either. I doubt he'll mourn if we win, as long as Draco and Narcissa are safe."

"How many Death Eaters are there?" Ron asked. "Nobody's actually said."

"I don't know the exact numbers any more; hopefully some of them died yesterday," Severus said grimly. "I know for certain that I killed three, and we can hope more died of their injuries or were killed by Order members, but I don't know. There are – or were – eleven of us in the inner circle, at least until my defection. A step below them, there are approximately three dozen others who wear the Mark and do as they are told – they weren't all there last night, though. In the first war there were also usually a dozen or so new recruits being tested and trained, although not all of them made it, but he hasn't enlisted anyone except Draco this time..."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter. Those are the official Death Eaters, but there are many more followers who are not Marked. Low level and largely unimportant individually, but united... the Dark Lord has far more people than the Order, particularly if the infiltration of the Ministry is as successful as it was intended to be. Hence our underground war, rather than some glorious battle."

"That's... a little scary," Harry said quietly. "I never realised..."

"Yes, it is," Severus agreed softly, "which is why nobody told you before. Even most of the Order know less than half the story. My reports were never heard by most of them. That is also why I only told Minerva what is going on – the command structure functions best if only those at the top can make informed decisions, as sad as that is."

"Why did you tell Mum, then? She's not high ranking," Ron objected.

Severus smirked at him. "Not officially, no, but in reality even Mad-Eye never dared to argue with her. Besides, I have seen Molly Weasley in combat, in the first war. Don't underestimate her for a moment." Ron blinked and nodded a little uncertainly, and he looked around the kitchen. "I assume there are still more questions?"

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted. "I wanted to ask about Dumbledore. You said... you said the curse was affecting his brain. Are you – are you sure?"

He nodded grimly, his eyes darkening. "I've wondered for the past couple of months, but I was certain the night he told you about – about your mother, Potter. Well, no, it was a day or two later, once I could think straight, but nonetheless. Dumbledore is a petty, spiteful old buzzard when the mood takes him, but he's not stupid, and that was virtually suicide. To break his word to me in such a way would have driven me away from the Order for good under normal circumstances; it was completely and utterly irrational."

"Normal circumstances being...?" Harry asked, rather nervously.

Severus glared at him. "When you are genuinely being stupid, it is believable. When you are merely pretending to be stupid, it wouldn't fool a toddler. But since you brought the subject up, how much do you and Weasley know?" His voice had dropped to a growl. "Well?"

Both boys exchanged horrified looks before staring pleadingly at Hermione, begging for help. She looked uneasily at Severus' expression, which was rapidly approaching thunderous as his control of his temper started to slip at last, and admitted unhappily, "The Room of Requirement."

His black eyes flashed with absolute rage as he turned to stare at her furiously. "_What_?"

"It wasn't Hermione's fault," Harry said instantly, and unwisely. He went pale as Severus turned his glare on him, but kept going bravely. "We guessed something had happened and made her tell us. I – we've known for a little while, but she didn't choose to tell us."

He had the sense to shut up after that, and Severus transferred his glare to the wall, a muscle working in his jaw as he slowly made himself calm down. Finally he turned back and regarded Hermione rather coolly, raising one eyebrow slightly and waiting.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly. "I didn't choose to tell them, but I did anyway when they asked. I needed someone to talk to. It wasn't... spite, or gossip. I wouldn't have let that happen."

He continued to look at her steadily for a long moment, before exhaling slowly and relaxing very slightly, dropping his gaze. "I see," he said finally.

"I really am sorry."

Severus nodded slightly. "I can't say I am overjoyed, but I suppose it does save having to explain it now. And I knew that Potter at least was aware of the situation after our little talk the afternoon he fought with Draco." He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to glare at the boys warningly. "One word from either of you that I don't like, and I will drag you back to Headquarters by the scruff and leave you there to do as the grownups tell you. Is that clear?"

"Yessir."

"Very well, then. Are there any further questions about the war?"

"What does... all of this have to do with the prophecy?" Harry asked, obviously relieved by the change of subject. "You haven't mentioned it."

"I don't know," Severus replied quietly. "I know a part of the prophecy, but I do not know it all, and I suspect that the part I do not know holds the final piece of the puzzle. I don't understand that aspect of the situation, so I am ignoring it for the moment to focus on what I do know."

"Where do you know it up to?" Harry asked. "I can tell you the rest."

Severus looked at him for a long moment with a slightly troubled expression, before a distant look entered his eyes and he stared at the wall, reciting slowly, "_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._' That is all I know, and all the Dark Lord knows." He shrugged. "Whatever will come of it, Dumbledore never intended me to be a part of that stage anyway; neither of us thought I would live this long."

"You almost didn't," Hermione said quietly.

He turned and looked at her intently. "No. And that is a discussion for another day. I need to discuss that night with you eventually, but not yet." He looked back at Harry, who shrugged.

"Well, the rest of it goes, '_and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_.' So I guess that's why Dumbledore picked me to deal with the Horcruxes, because I've got to kill him eventually. Or am I being arrogant again?" he asked, looking as though he wanted to be told that he was, that it meant something else.

Severus frowned. "That seems rather anticlimactic, given how secretive Dumbledore has always been about it. I was expecting something more... dramatic. Are you certain that was all of it?"

"Yeah. It repeats the bit about being born at the end of July, and then that's the end."

"Strange. Anyway, Potter, I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. I've told you before that it isn't reliable, and I don't see why it has to be you who deals the final blow; once the Horcruxes are all destroyed, he will be mortal, and anyone can kill him."

"Why does the prophecy say _the Dark Lord_?" Ron asked. "I thought only the Death Eaters called him that."

"Huh. Good question," Harry said.

They looked at Severus, who shrugged. "No idea. Trelawney certainly isn't a Death Eater – although that is an interesting mental image."

Hermione drew her wand from her belt, ending the conversation, and he raised an eyebrow at her. "Stop looking at me like that," she told him. "You're sitting off balance, hunching to one side, so you're obviously still hurt. Hold still." Unceremoniously she started to run through her diagnostic charms.

"I don't know what's weirder," Ron commented airily to the room at large, looking at Harry and grinning. "That she's bullying a teacher like that, or that he's letting her do it."

"He's not our teacher any more," Harry replied, grinning back. "Anyway, _nobody_ can argue with Hermione when she's in this mood."

"Shut up, the pair of you," she told them absently, opening a rip in Severus' shirt to examine the deep cut in his side. He had obviously partially healed it himself yesterday or this morning; it was closed, but only just.

"Enough," Severus growled after a pause, shifting away from her. "There is nothing wrong with me that time won't heal, and I have a few questions of my own to ask before we rest." He sat back and blew out a breath. "What happened after I left the cave?" he asked.

They blinked at one another. "I forgot you didn't know," Hermione said apologetically. "It seems like weeks ago, rather than just yesterday."

He nodded. "Was the Horcrux destroyed?"

"It wasn't a Horcrux."

"_What?_" He looked utterly stunned, as well he might – and it wasn't really a happy thought to learn that they had gone through all that for nothing in return.

"Someone else got there first," Hermione explained. "I don't know if you really had time to see it, but it was Salazar Slytherin's locket. Or, rather, it wasn't. It had been replaced with a fake; it's about as magical as a prize from a Christmas cracker. There was a note inside it addressed to... You-Know-Who. Someone else knew about the Horcruxes and said they were going to try and destroy as many of them as possible before they were caught. Harry's got it now."

Severus rested his head in his hands and sighed heavily. "Damn. That complicates matters. We've no way of knowing if this person managed to destroy the real locket or not. Did Dumbledore say anything?"

"There wasn't really time," Harry said dryly, "what with the Inferi attack."

"The _what_?"

Hermione gave her friend an annoyed look; she hadn't planned to tell Severus everything. He had enough to think about as it was. "There were Inferi in the lake. They attacked when Harry and the Headmaster were getting out of the boat again. Dumbledore drove them back with Fiendfyre until we were past the blood spell. It wasn't a big deal." At the time she had been a nervous wreck, but after everything that had happened since then, it was difficult to care much.

"My, aren't we getting blasé about mortal peril," he said irritably. "In future, do share these little adventures with me, if you please. Was there anything else you've neglected to tell me?"

She glared at him. "Not really. After worrying myself sick the entire way back to the cliffs, we all Apparated back and were greeted with the sight of the Dark Mark hanging over Hogwarts and the whole village in a panic, and then enjoyed a lovely quiet walk to find out who was dead before walking into the Great Hall to see You-Know-Who waiting for us. It was quite uneventful, really."

His eyes hardened and he drew in a breath before evidently stopping himself from speaking. Turning away, he stood up and stalked off into the living room without another word, leaving Harry and Ron regarding their friend quizzically.

"Er, Hermione, what was that about?" Harry asked quietly. "It wasn't his fault. He had to go when V – er, You-Know-Who summoned him. We don't know who cast the Mark, but if it was him, he did it to warn people."

She sighed. "I know, but... you saw how terrified I was. The state he was in, he could have been killed."

"That's not his fault either." Ron grinned. "We kind of expect him to take things out on us, but it's not like you, you know."

"We're all a bit on edge," Harry said, shrugging. "I reckon he knows that, too – notice how he stopped himself from fighting back? Besides..." He grinned. "Hermione can probably get away with it. If it was either of us, he'd have killed us."

"That's true," Ron agreed before Hermione could say anything in response.

She glared at both of them helplessly, feeling a little ashamed of herself now, before getting up and heading rather apprehensively into the living room. "Severus?" she asked uncertainly.

He glanced up from where he sat on the edge of the makeshift cot. "Don't. It's fine."

"It's not. I'm sorry."

He snorted softly. "I think, on balance, you owe me far worse than that. Don't worry about it."

"It's _because_ I was worried. That potion almost killed you even before everything went to hell."

Severus shook his head slowly. "Not quite. It wasn't a true poison. If it had been a normal meeting, I would have been hurt, yes – I wasn't in any fit state to keep myself together. And if he had tried Legilimency, I don't know if I could have held my shields, in which case I would have had to suicide. But, as it was... we were lucky."

After a long moment she said quietly, "You know, you really, really suck at being reassuring."

That earned her a glimpse of his familiar crooked smile. "As it happens, yes, I do know that."

"It's all been so – mad, the past couple of days. It's a lot to take in." She looked down at him and a brief spark of anger made it through the confusion. "You should have told me before."

His smile faded and he looked away. "I know."

"Do you have any idea what it would have done to me, to watch you murder the Headmaster with no idea why or what was happening?"

"I know, Hermione. I apologise." He stared at the worn carpet, his lank black hair falling forward to hide his expression. "I don't have an excuse – my reasons for not telling you were always a little flimsy. I simply didn't want to have to say it aloud. I didn't want to see your face when you heard."

The quiet admission took a lot of the heat out of her anger, and she came to sit beside him, not quite close enough to touch but close enough to feel him shivering fitfully. Her diagnostics a few minutes ago had showed that he was right, mostly all that was wrong was acute fatigue and a bit of shock; rest was all he needed.

"I'm sorry, too – for doubting you. When you Disarmed Dumbledore, and then looked at him like that... I really thought you were going to kill him. I do trust you, but I was so scared, and I couldn't think, and..."

He touched her hand without looking at her, resting his fingers over hers gently. "Don't apologise. I almost believed it myself, and I have been so angry with him for so many years that I very nearly did do it anyway. It was a close thing. You trust me more than I trust myself." He sighed, taking his hand away and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "We still need to talk privately, but I'm worn out..."

Tentatively she reached out and rested her hand on his back, between the sharp lines of his shoulder blades. "I know. I didn't expect anything just yet. We both need a bit of time to think, after everything that's just happened. I feel completely numb, and I'm tired as well. I'd rather wait until we're both more human." After a moment she asked far more lightly, "So what happens next?"

"I have no idea," he told her with what she suspected was complete honesty. He cocked his head to one side. "Well, right now, we need supplies. There is literally no food in the house, and not much of anything else; I didn't plan to return here."

"You should sleep again. Is it safe for any of us to go out, though?"

"Oh, yes, if you're careful and don't take too long. The Dark Lord doesn't even know which part of the country I live in, and in any case they will all assume we're at Headquarters – we shouldn't risk it after they've had time to organise themselves, but this once should be safe enough. There is a general shop nearby – go back to the main road and turn right, then right again and it's on the left. You and Potter may as well start showing Weasley how the Muggle world works. Here..." He stood up and led her into the hall, opening the small drawer in the little table by the door and handing her a bank card. "Don't go mad. I don't know how long we have to live off what's left in my account. The Order aren't in a position to lend us Muggle money, and we can't really go to the exchange in Gringotts either."

Hermione nodded, looking down at the card, a little surprised to see his real name on it. That must confuse the bank – there hadn't been a Muggle called Severus since the days of the Roman Empire, she suspected. "I owe you three hundred pounds, too," she said softly. "I haven't forgotten, but I can't get to my Muggle account. My card is in storage with my family's things – although I suppose I could always go there and get some of my stuff..."

"Don't be so absurd," he told her, with genuine scorn in his voice. "Now be off with you and take those two with you so I can have some peace."

"I really am sorry I told them..."

"Stop apologising, Hermione. I may never understand why on earth you are friends with them, but you are, and that's enough for me. I never imagined it would be possible to hide anything from them forever – although I had hoped," he added dryly. "I can understand needing to talk, too. It has all been... rather confusing. Just warn them not to be stupid – one joke, and I am likely to forget all my fine resolutions about not harming your friends and kill them both."

"Thank you. Do you want anything in particular from the shop?" She wasn't going to push the subject of money now, not when he looked so close to collapse, but she wasn't going to let it drop completely either.

"A couple of packs of cigarettes would be a good idea; I'm stressed enough as it is without trying to quit smoking on top of everything else, and I'm almost out. You know the ones I smoke, don't you?"

"Yes, but I don't have any ID."

He suppressed a soft laugh, his eyes glittering briefly. "Believe me, around here that couldn't possibly matter. This is not the kind of area where little things like laws have any sway. I've bought cigarettes and alcohol at that shop since I was thirteen."

* * *

><p>Severus lay awake on the not very comfortable cot, listening to the distant sounds; Hermione and the boys had come back a little while ago. Thinking him asleep, they had eaten quietly and gone upstairs; he could hear the low murmur of voices now, and occasionally the creaking of the plumbing protesting. He was hungry – he hadn't eaten in twenty four hours – but he'd wait until they were asleep before moving.<p>

It was strange, having them here – this had not been part of the plan. He had never intended coming back here, despite his statement about needing the defences – he still lived here purely because he couldn't be bothered to go anywhere else, and for no other reason. He absolutely hated this house and had no good memories of it at all, but if anything could change the atmosphere of neglected misery, those three could.

None of this had been part of the plan, though, because he hadn't had a plan. In the end, he'd just gone with his instincts, and rationalised it afterwards. His only real intention had been to buy them all some time before losing their leader, and to try and keep the death toll to a minimum and protect himself from the hellish fate that would have awaited him as Voldemort's Headmaster. So far, it seemed to have worked out far better than he could have hoped for; now they could work on what really mattered, unhindered by anyone else. And he and Hermione might eventually find time to talk, too. He would prefer it if Potter and Weasley weren't around, naturally, but perhaps their presence was actually a good thing – it would make it easier for him to behave himself, at least for a while, and that would help him focus on what they were meant to be doing.

It could have been worse. Time would tell whether or not things would work out, but he was almost – almost – optimistic.

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><p><em>Beautiful PTL fan art from the lovely <strong>BulletTimeScully:<strong> _ pics dot livejournal dot com /bulletimescully/pic/0001treq/s640x480


	35. Chapter 35

_Moving right along, then... this is going to be another enjoyable chapter.  
><em>

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><p><strong>"We all wear masks and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin."<strong>  
>– André Berthiaume.<p>

* * *

><p>The next morning found all of them crowded into the small bathroom; Severus had apparently woken (although Hermione personally doubted that he had been to sleep) with his arm hurting him more than it should have done, burning with almost the strength of a Summons, and had decided that he didn't dare wait any longer to remove the Dark Mark. He wasn't completely certain how Voldemort was able to keep track of his followers through the brands, but he wasn't willing to take the risk.<p>

She was trying to think about that, trying to guess what he was about to do, but his appearance was distracting, to say the least. She hadn't seen him in Muggle clothing since last summer – his jogging gear didn't really count – and she hadn't really been paying attention then, but now she couldn't stop staring at the odd sight of Severus Snape wearing jeans. Black jeans, naturally, and she wasn't sure the boys had even noticed the difference, but...

He was sitting on the edge of the bath at the moment, slowly and methodically rolling up the sleeves of an old and rather ratty-looking grey jumper – his home clothes were if anything even shabbier than his school ones – watched by the three of them. Glancing up, he scowled. "You don't need to be here."

"Hermione does," Harry pointed out mildly, "and do you really want me and Ron left alone and unsupervised? God knows what we'd get up to."

"It's not as if you could make this house any worse," he muttered, paying more attention to his arm as he exposed the Dark Mark, standing out clear and black against his pale skin. The edges were slightly reddened, almost as though it was a new tattoo.

"What are you actually doing?" Ron asked interestedly.

Severus gave him a sharp look, as though judging his sincerity, before shrugging his thin shoulders. Picking up his wand, he tapped his arm gently. "_Arcanum hominis revelio,_" he said softly. Greenish-black fire glittered around the Dark Mark and began to spread, radiating outwards from the brand and following his veins down his wrist to his fingertips and up his elbow past his sleeve; after a few moments the dark lines reappeared from under the jumper and spread along his other hand and up his neck and face.

After a moment he began to speak softly, not in his usual brisk lecturing tone. "Ordinarily with that charm you would see my magic. What this shows is that the Dark Mark is tied to my magic, overlaying it with what is in effect pure Dark Magic. Such a tie grants additional power to the Death Eater, and also gives the Dark Lord a greater measure of control over his followers. To remove it, I need to untangle my magic from the magic of the Mark and draw the dark magic back, to isolate it in the brand itself so it is no longer spread throughout my body; then I can remove the Mark itself."

"Won't that weaken you?"

"A little, perhaps, but I was quite powerful to start with; in any case, as I have taught you, strength isn't as important as knowledge and instinct. The weakening should be only temporary anyway; my body will compensate eventually."

"How is the Dark Mark done?" Harry asked.

Severus' expression shut down completely, walls forming behind his dark eyes as his face turned stony. "None of your business," he answered shortly. Hermione thought she recognised something of his expression and was glad he hadn't decided to answer that question truthfully; she was absolutely certain she never wanted to hear him say it aloud. Harry scowled, but accepted the rebuke and fell silent, and after a moment Severus shivered briefly and returned his attention to his arm, starting to slowly move his wand tip back and forth across the brand as his lips moved.

Most of the words he was chanting were inaudible, and the few that she could hear weren't in any language she recognised. She wasn't sure how many languages Severus spoke; she had seen journals in foreign languages on his desk several times, and he certainly seemed able to swear fluently in several tongues – admittedly she didn't know for certain that he had been swearing, but the tone of his voice at the time had seemed pretty conclusive. Whatever this language was, she couldn't identify it, but something in the sing-song rhythm suggested it might be related to whatever his odd healing song was.

It took a while before there was any discernible effect, but gradually the watching teenagers noticed the dark veins on his face beginning to fade and recede, and then those on his right arm. After almost an hour, Severus was sweating and starting to look tired, but the darkness writhing under his skin was now confined to his left arm; as they watched, the inky tendrils recoiled still further, his skin shimmering oddly until the Dark Mark itself seemed to be moving.

"That's really, really creepy," Ron observed from where he was standing by the door. Beside him, Harry nodded fervent agreement, staring at the writhing brand with a faintly sick expression.

Perched on the edge of the bath next to Severus, Hermione gave them both withering looks. "You could try being a bit more helpful."

"Why break the habits of a lifetime," Severus muttered caustically, reaching to put his wand down on the edge of the sink. Picking up the flannel from the bottom of the bath, he ran it under the tap and wiped his face. "Well, that was the hard part," he observed, studying his arm.

The lack of expression in his eyes gave him away, and Hermione looked at him. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes," he admitted calmly. He glanced at each of them in turn. "I don't think you're going to want to watch the next part."

"The fact that you said that makes me think I should be here to watch," she replied suspiciously. "What are you going to do?"

Severus was spectacularly ill-equipped to look innocent, but he gave it his best shot. "Remove the Dark Mark. I thought I explained that already."

Turning away from her, he retrieved his wand and started Summoning things to him. Hermione examined them; his switchblade, Blood-Replenishing Potion, dittany, and a slightly dusty plastic bottle of Dettol disinfectant that looked as though it was ten years old. Slowly she turned to stare at him. "You're going to _cut it out?_" she demanded, horrified.

He returned her gaze without much expression. "It's the only way. I can't make it simply vanish; it has to be anchored to my flesh, even if just in a small area. The only way to get rid of it completely is to remove the anchor along with it."

"Yeah, but with a penknife?" Harry asked.

"It's hardly a penknife, Potter. Make yourself useful and look after the Blood-Replenisher until I ask for it, if you're going to insist on staying." Calmly, Severus slid off the edge of the bath and knelt beside the tub, turning the cold tap on and shoving his arm into the water.

"Severus..." Hermione began weakly.

He gave her a level look. "I'm not doing this for fun, Hermione. I have spent a lot of the last two years studying the Mark. Would you prefer I simply amputated my arm? That is the only alternative." His gaze softened fractionally, although his voice did not. "Are you going to help, or are you going to whine at me?"

She glared at him instead and angrily took the knife and the disinfectant, cleaning the blade thoroughly before handing it back to him. Ignoring them all completely, he shifted to get a little more comfortable before removing his arm from the flow of water and swiftly dragging the edge of the blade across his skin, making four shallow cuts around the edges of the Dark Mark to guide him before slowly beginning to slice more deeply.

After about ten minutes, a very pale-faced Ron excused himself and left the room rather hurriedly. Harry looked like he very much wanted to do the same, but after swallowing hard he stayed where he was, staring fixedly at the potion he was holding and doing his best to ignore what was happening as the metallic scent of blood grew stronger.

Hermione didn't think of herself as being squeamish any more – she had always had quite a strong stomach, and over the past two years she had seen this man injured in quite horrific ways often enough to have thought herself more or less immune, but this wasn't quite the same. Severus had an expression of acute concentration on his face, his brows furrowed and his shoulders hunched as he leaned over his arm, his hair shoved untidily behind his ears out of the way; rarely did he show any signs of even mild discomfort, let alone true pain, as he slowly and methodically cut deeper into his arm.

It was fascinating, in a horrible sort of way, she reflected. She could see the different layers of tissue now as he started to peel back the section of flesh that he was cutting free, skin giving way to a (very sparse) layer of fat before the fibres of muscle became visible as he washed blood from the wound. When he reached the big blood vessels he started to put the knife down, and Hermione swallowed before saying quietly, "I'll do it." Picking up her wand, she moved to his shoulder and leaned past him; as he cut through each one, she cauterised them with murmured spells almost instantly, keeping the blood loss to a minimum.

"You're losing a lot of blood," Harry said thickly, still staring determinedly in the other direction. "Couldn't you – burn it all?"

"I could," Severus agreed; his voice was slightly tight with a faint edge of what might be pain, but he sounded remarkably unaffected considering what he was doing to himself. "But that would cause a lot more damage. Burns are more severe than other injuries because the burn continues even during treatment; for something on this scale I would end up cooking half my arm and would probably never regain the full use of it. Blood loss is the lesser of two evils." He paused, before adding rather unkindly, "And of course the smell of burning flesh would leave me with a house full of teenagers being sick. That isn't terribly unusual around here, but usually only on a Saturday night."

There were a few things Hermione could have said in response to that, but the one she chose turned out to be the most effective; keeping her voice down, she murmured tartly, "Stop trying to look down my shirt and pay attention to what you're doing."

To her frank amazement, when Severus turned away and hunched more closely over his arm, she noticed that the back of his neck was rather pinker than usual. Grinning in delight, both at having made him blush like a teenage boy and at the fact that he really had been staring at her chest, or at least thinking about it, she moved away and perched on the edge of the bath once more.

By the time the knife was half way underneath the sizeable piece of flesh he was cutting free, mid way under the skull itself, he wasn't blushing any more. In fact he was chalk-white, and starting to look decidedly unwell, sweat beginning to trickle down his face. Pausing for a moment, he swallowed and said thickly, "Potter. Potion."

"What?"

"Harry," Hermione snapped exasperatedly at him.

"Sorry, sorry. Here." He handed the vial over and Hermione held it to Severus' lips; he sucked down a rather arbitrary dose and nodded in acknowledgement when she took it away. Blood-Replenisher was one of quite a depressingly high number of healing potions that he had developed a resistance to, but hopefully he wouldn't need it many more times.

"Are you all right?" she asked him a few moments later, staring at him.

He gave her an irritated look. "Stop fussing."

"You look almost green. That isn't blood loss, and I know you're not squeamish."

Severus grimaced and returned his attention to what he was doing. "Toxic shock syndrome," he said tersely. "That damned potion from the cave is still in my system. It's reacting with all the healing potions I've had to take since." He swallowed again and licked his lips, shivering, before adding nonchalantly, "I'm going to be fairly ill on and off over the next few days, I imagine." He continued in the same nonchalant tone, "Stop glaring at me like that. It's worth it, and there's no choice anyway."

There wasn't really much else she could say to that. Biting her lip, Hermione kept silent, watching as he reached the base of the skull and began to cut beneath the writhing snake. By now the skin directly around the brand was starting to look almost black, and the flesh he was cutting free looked darker. He was also less successful at concealing how much this was hurting; his left hand had cramped and curled into a fist some time ago and he was visibly trembling as he worked the knife steadily down his arm, finally turning the blade and cutting upwards towards the skin once more as he cleared the Dark Mark.

Harry almost bolted from the room when the piece of flesh fell to the bottom of the bath with a horribly unpleasant wet _splat, _one hand clamped over his mouth as he made his escape. Hermione very nearly went after him, but she forced herself to stay put, breathing shallowly through her mouth and staring in horrified fascination as Severus rinsed his arm under the tap, exposing the long and broad but comparatively shallow wound gouged out of his forearm.

Regaining her wits enough to hand him the bottle of dittany, she watched him carefully dripping it over the wound, each drop smoking slightly when it hit the raw red flesh of his arm. When he rinsed it again, they both looked at the web of scar tissue that had formed.

"Dittany shouldn't leave such deep scars..." she mused as he stood up.

"This isn't an ordinary wound," Severus replied. His voice was hoarse and a little strained. When she looked at him, he was staring fixedly at the chunk of discarded meat in the bottom of the tub, blood still seeping from it and the Dark Mark visible on the skin still attached. Reaching out without looking, he picked up his wand and wordlessly Vanished it without ceremony, dropping his wand on the floor and returning his fixed stare to his arm as he backed up to lean against the sink. Very slowly he traced the new scarring with a finger; he didn't appear to be breathing.

"...Severus?" she asked uncertainly, still not used to using his first name.

He looked at her, and she saw with surprise that his eyes were glistening. "I'm free," he whispered, his voice shaking slightly as he blinked rapidly once or twice. He glanced down at his arm again, then looked back at her and repeated hoarsely, "I'm finally free..." before hastily looking away and swiping at his eyes almost angrily as his hair fell across his face.

Her throat tightened as she stared at him. For the first time, she could see in his face a shadow of the boy he had once been; she wasn't sure she had ever seen him so vulnerable. Hermione hesitated for a moment before deciding that the time had come for a bit of rash Gryffindor impulsiveness; standing, she moved closer and hugged him before he had a chance to move away, something she wouldn't have dared to do even a week ago.

Severus froze, suddenly and painfully tense, drawing in a sharp breath, and her nerve failed her. She started to pull away, about to apologise, when he relaxed fractionally; abruptly his arms came around her and he hugged her back fiercely, almost too tightly. Tangling her hands in his jumper, she buried her head against his chest and breathed in the scent of him, feeling him shivering fitfully as he gradually relaxed a little and loosened his embrace slightly. Winding her arms around his waist, she leaned against him, listening to his breathing hitching momentarily as he fought for control again, smiling; she felt a strange blend of happiness and sorrow for him, realising just how long he had suffered being a Death Eater and hating what he was.

It felt like a long time, but it was probably only a few moments before he sighed and relaxed fully, his breathing evening out, and she felt him rest his cheek against her hair. She allowed herself to enjoy his embrace a moment longer before she shifted sideways; he started to draw back, but she kept her arms around his waist as she moved around to press against his right side, reaching out to touch his left arm gently and explore the new scar.

He let her do it, still trembling slightly, his right arm tightening around her shoulders, and when she looked up at him again his eyes met hers with an expression that made her shiver as they began to burn once more. Smiling, surprised at her own daring, she moved out from under his arm to stand in front of him, her fingertips still resting lightly on his forearm, licking her lips as she stared up at him.

After a moment he blinked slowly and sighed, a rather hesitant half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, before reaching out to draw her closer and slowly lowering his mouth to hers. Outwardly this kiss lacked the almost frightening passion of their first, but she could taste it below the surface, just barely restrained. His tongue coaxed her lips apart and he began to explore her mouth gently, as she melted against him and reached up to twine her fingers through his hair.

When he began to draw back, she followed his movement, separating just long enough to draw in a breath before daring to kiss him in return. He tasted mostly of Blood-Replenishing Potion at the moment, but underneath that she could taste _him _as she rather tentatively explored his mouth as he had done to her, her tongue sliding against his. His breath hitched for a moment as he kissed her back, but he was still taking care to keep it relatively gentle. One hand slowly wound its way into her hair as the other slid lower over the curve of her buttocks, pulling her more closely against him, and as she shivered in response she tugged his shirt free of his trousers so her hands could feel bare skin on his scarred back, drawing almost a growl from him.

Finally they broke apart, both breathing more heavily, and stared at one another. His black eyes were still burning with a hot excitement that made her shiver again, uncertainty mingling with desire. Swallowing, she said shakily, "We can't keep doing this."

"I know," he agreed softly, with a huskiness to his voice that sent another shiver through her. "It's not – not fair to either of us."

Trying to ignore the fact that all she really wanted to do was kiss him again, Hermione attempted to pull herself together. "What... what exactly is this?"

He looked away, regaining control of himself. "...I don't know," he said, a little awkwardly. "It... it should be wrong, but..." He hesitated, then turned and gave her a very direct stare, his gaze boring into hers with painful intensity. "I have never felt like this," he said quietly with deliberate emphasis.

"Like what?" she asked uncertainly. "Do you... do you really want me?"

Severus blinked at her, tilting his head to one side, before barking a rough laugh. "That may be the only truly stupid thing I have ever heard you say," he observed in a dry tone, before shaking his head. Before she could react, he reached out and seized her wrist. "Does this answer your question?" he asked bluntly, pressing her hand unceremoniously against his groin.

Startled, she reflexively tried to pull back, but even as he let go of her wrist she tentatively flattened her palm to feel the outline of his erection, tracing its length with curious and hesitant fingers before looking up at him, unsure of his reaction. His eyes were burning again as he stared down at her, and his voice was rough and husky as he said softly, "Yes, Hermione, I want you very much. More than I should."

She breathed out, relieved as much as anything else. "Good, then. I was afraid I was making a fool of myself."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Blushing slightly, she nodded. "I – I've been thinking about this for a while," she confessed, part of her thrilled to see the answering fire in his eyes.

"I..." he started, before being interrupted by a crash from downstairs. Abruptly looking seriously annoyed, he growled something under his breath before stalking past her to the doorway and leaning out. "Potter!"

"Sorry," Harry called distantly.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing..."

Severus visibly ground his teeth and looked back at Hermione. She gave him a wry smile. "Go and make sure they're not doing too much damage. It's okay."

He shook his head. "No. We haven't had a chance to talk. Once things get moving again we may never get a chance. This needs sorting." He raised his voice. "If anything's out of place when I get down there, you're both going to be sorry!" Pulling the door half-closed, he turned to look at her, suddenly looking unsure of himself again as he reached up to scrub a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's going to happen," he said slowly, not quite meeting her eyes. "I don't know what promises I will be free to make. But... this isn't a game to me. I don't – I don't quite know what it is I feel, right now, but I very much want to find out. When there's time," he added wryly, glancing through his hair at her.

Hermione nodded, then stifled a laugh. "In between Horcruxes, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to deal with something as simple as this," she offered as dryly as she could manage, drawing a soft huff of amusement from him in response as he nodded. "I – it's not a game to me, either," she added before she could stop herself, relieved that her voice wasn't shaking. He met her eyes for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

Another crash from downstairs broke the mood entirely; Severus went another shade paler and hauled the door open again. "Stay away from the cellar!" he shouted, grinding his teeth again and adding in an undertone, "Although it would serve you right if you didn't."

"Why don't you want us to go down there?" she asked, more relieved than otherwise by the change of subject. They both needed more time to sort out their thoughts and feelings before attempting to find out just what lay between them in more specific terms, and there were other important things to be done as well.

"Because that's where I keep everything that's too dangerous to keep at Hogwarts," he replied in a distracted tone. "Aside from my basic Potions stores it's all illegal and most of it is very dangerous indeed, even to me." He sighed. "Go and sort them out, please."

"You don't want to do it yourself?"

"I'm likely to strangle one of them," he replied with an oddly disarming crooked smile, before wiping his forehead. "Besides, I think I'm going to be sick again soon, and I don't particularly want an audience."

"Fair enough. Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head and tried to smile at her. "No. Thank you." He sighed. "We'll talk, soon."

"Don't worry about it right now. One thing at a time." She smiled back at him. "I'll wait." After a moment she added mischievously, "By the way, I like the jeans."

Severus scowled reflexively and looked away. "All my decent clothes are still at Hogwarts," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hermione judged it was probably better not to tease him any further right now, even though she really, really wanted to discuss the drawer of rock band t-shirts she'd discovered yesterday. It was summer, he couldn't keep wearing a sweater for ever. "I said I liked them," she chided him gently, heading for the door and glancing back at him.

He gave her the long, almost expressionless look that he used when he wasn't sure if something had been meant mockingly or not, trying to judge her sincerity, and she smiled at him. His eyes softened, before his expression changed; recognising the signs, she left him to it.

* * *

><p>Severus spent most of the next two days in the bathroom, except for short miserable periods sitting shivering on the landing while one or other of them hastily showered or used the loo. Harry and Hermione spent the time starting to educate Ron about the Muggle world, aided by the small, cheap black and white TV they had found in the bottom of the cupboard under the stairs and by another brief trip down the road to the shop to pick up everything they had forgotten the first time around. Hermione had been delighted to find a box of old records in the same cupboard, but there was no sign of a record player anywhere and she had to make do with the radio in the kitchen.<p>

Life promised to be very strange for a while, she reflected. There was a lot to adjust to – Severus had warned them that he had lived alone since he was their age and wasn't used to houseguests, which they had all translated to mean that they had to be very, very careful of his temper. Hermione had already had to face the reality of having to share a bathroom with two teenage boys; in less than a day she had given two lectures on housetraining. Harry was at least vaguely familiar with the concept of housework – and hygiene – but she was seriously considering rubbing Ron's face along the bathroom floor as though he were a puppy. All right, with so many boys around it was understandable that Mrs Weasley hadn't been able to adequately train them all, but _really. _The situation wasn't helped by Severus being ill so frequently, but at least he had proved able to clean up after himself so far.

Meals promised to be a bit strange until the teething troubles were worked out, too. Weirdly, Ron turned out to be quite a good cook, although he had absolutely no idea how much food cost and they had needed to virtually tie his hands together in the shop. Harry could manage the basics easily enough. Severus was also quite good, although by his own admission he usually couldn't be bothered and wasn't particularly interested. Of the four of them, Hermione was almost amused to find she was by far the worst, since she'd never cooked anything in her life, and had been relegated to kitchen helper by unanimous vote – she had never wanted to be a domestic goddess anyway.

As if the situation wasn't weird enough, she had been looking more closely at this house, looking past the surface as she had tried to do with his rooms at Hogwarts, and she was starting to understand the closed, distant look that had been in Severus' eyes since they'd got here. Most of the obvious problems were the usual neglect – quite obviously he hadn't bothered to change anything since his parents had died, except the bathroom – but it looked as though it had all been pretty bad to start with.

Ron had simply accepted it as Muggle weirdness, since to her knowledge he'd never been in a Muggle house in his life, but she'd seen Harry looking around and frowning occasionally. Both of them came from reasonably well-off families, even if Harry's relatives hadn't treated him very well, but they could both recognise poverty when they saw it. It seemed very peculiar that any witch could allow herself and her son to live in such conditions – surely domestic abuse wasn't _possible _against someone who could use magic. Which, presumably, was why nobody at Hogwarts seemed to have paid much attention.

The signs were there, though. She'd felt ill when she'd noticed the marks in the paint on Severus' bedroom door; at one point there had been a bolt on the outside, and there were dents along the bottom on the inside. More marks on the outside of the cellar door showed that too had once been bolted from the outside. And the fact that he still lived here, like this, spoke volumes about his psychological scars; she had been looking at the neighbouring houses too, and frankly this neighbourhood scared her. It was the kind of estate adorned with burned-out cars and used needles – in fact, she was pretty sure the house directly opposite was dealing drugs, and there were sirens in the distance every few hours.

* * *

><p>Evidently Severus had been making plans in between bouts of illness, since it was obvious from his expression when he finally rejoined them in the world of the living once more that he had a plan in mind. Accepting the sandwiches Hermione put in front of him with a nod – and acknowledging her stern look with a wry arch of one eyebrow – he took a bite and swallowed before asking, "Has there been any communication from the Order?"<p>

"Not really," Harry answered. "Remus contacted us yesterday to say everyone's fine and that we're to sit tight here, and Mrs Weasley keeps sending letters via Pig to make sure we're okay and that we're eating properly," he added with a grin.

Severus snorted and chewed another mouthful. "All right, then. Ready to go to work?" They nodded, and once they had all finished eating they trailed after him into the living room and settled comfortably in a rough semicircle around the fireplace. Hermione lit the fire and Severus tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames. "12 Grimmauld Place. Hello, the Order. Anyone home?"

"Identify yourself," a harsh voice growled.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Why bother, Lupin? You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Snape. I thought you were dying."

"Sadly no. Who else is there?"

"Severus?"

"Minerva. You're at Headquarters permanently now, I take it?"

"Yes. Is everyone all right there?"

"We're fine, Professor," Harry assured the flames. "We did say we were. Everything's okay."

"Is Dumbledore there?" Severus asked, his voice hard.

"He's upstairs resting. He is very angry with you, Severus."

"Not nearly as angry as I am with him, believe me," Severus replied flatly. "What's happened since I spoke to you?"

"With respect, Severus, you aren't in the Order any more."

"Oh, now you all learn caution. Fine, I can read between the lines. Is Bill Weasley there? I need to speak with him as soon as possible."

"I – I think so. But, Severus... what's going on? What are you up to?"

"Ask Dumbledore, when he's finished wallowing in self pity and got over the shock of not pulling the strings any more. He might even tell you, although I doubt it. I need to speak to Weasley."

"Is it really a good idea to speak to her like that?" Ron inquired from the far side of the fire during the pause that followed.

"Probably not, no, but she can't get in here any more than the Death Eaters can," Severus replied almost flippantly, "and I've had enough of all of them right now."

"I've been meaning to ask," Hermione said, "is there any way we can communicate with the portraits?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Phineas will be at Headquarters passing on the gossip, and Dilys can keep the Order updated about anything happening at Hogwarts or St Mungo's, which is where her other portrait is, but neither of them have access to this house." He held up a hand as the green flames flickered once more. "Mr Weasley?"

"Yes, Professor. You needed to speak to me?"

"Yes. I need you to get in touch with your old contacts at Gringotts."

"Gringotts? Why?"

"If you stop interrupting and listen, I'll tell you," Severus growled in exasperation. "I need them to agree to look the other way for a couple of hours while the four of us access Vault 439."

"That's not your vault..."

"Well done," he replied sarcastically. "I would hardly need you to intercede if it were."

"They're not going to give you access to anyone else's vault."

"I _know _that, Weasley. I'm not asking them to. I need them to disable the anti-theft ward on that vault for an hour or two and to ignore the alarms on the back door during the same period. I can deal with the rest."

"You know about the back door?"

"Obviously."

"How?"

"I'm a spy," Severus replied, rolling his eyes again. "Start negotiations as soon as possible, Weasley. I need you to buy as much time as possible and I need them to remove the goblin-bound spell that traps anyone who doesn't work for Gringotts. They don't have to touch any human-origin protections that might be on the vault or its contents, but ask for that first so you have something to concede – they might even do it. Ask for six hours or more initially, as well – the absolute minimum I need is an hour, but two hours would be far safer and more would be better."

"What are we offering in exchange?"

"They know what we're in a position to offer, probably better than you do. Let them name a price, but don't commit to anything until you've checked in with me."

"When do you need this to happen?"

"I don't know yet. We have plenty of other work to do as well. The sooner the better, but make sure they agree to give us at least twenty four hours' notice; otherwise they will probably announce one day that the two hours was the day before."

"Do I need to demand that they don't speak to the vault's rightful owner?"

He barked a rough laugh. "No. They won't. Trust me on that. Just do the best you can; it's vital that we get into that vault, and I don't like our chances of doing so without Gringotts discovering it."

"Is there any point in my asking what this is about?"

"No."

"Okay, then," Bill replied cheerfully. "I'll see what I can do. No promises, mind. The whole wizarding world has lost a fair amount of credibility recently. Hey, is Ron there?"

"Yeah. Hi, Bill. How is everyone?"

"Hi, little brother. We're okay. Mum's worrying herself silly though because your hand – and Harry's – are both stuck on _Mortal Peril _on the clock."

"Well, obviously," Harry joked, grinning. "We're staying with Professor Snape. I'd call that pretty perilous. For some of us, anyway," he added with a sly look at Hermione, before yelping as Severus reached out and slapped him – hard – around the back of the head.

"Whatever that was, you probably deserved it," Bill said calmly through the fire. "I'd best get moving, anyway – this is likely to take a long time. Did you need to speak to anyone else?"

"Not today, no."

"Okay. Good luck, then."

As the Floo call ended, Severus sat back on his heels and pushed his hair back from his face. "We're off to a good start, then."

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. "Whose vault is number 439, and why do we need to get into it?"

He held up a hand. "First things first." Slowly he turned hard eyes to Harry and Ron and said in a dangerously silky voice, "If I hear any more witty jokes about things that do not concern either of you, I will not be responsible for my actions. I have reached the absolute limit of my temper. Is that clear?"

Harry had the decency to look ashamed of himself. "Sorry." Ron merely nodded uncomfortably.

Severus held the stern look for a moment longer before nodding. "All right, then." He stood up slowly and moved to one of the armchairs, and the others followed him to sit down. "Vault 439 belongs to the Lestranges," he said without preamble, "and we need to get in because that is where Helga Hufflepuff's cup is."

There was a short pause while they absorbed this, before Ron said quietly, "Oh, bugger."

"Yes," Severus agreed dryly. "However, that is unfortunately the easiest of the remaining Horcruxes to get to. We need to devise a way of getting to Nagini, but before that, we need to unravel the mystery of the fake locket. That must be our next step. Potter, do you have it? I didn't have a chance to look at it in the cave."

Harry nodded and fished in his t-shirt, pulling the chain over his head and handing it over. Hermione moved to perch on the arm of Severus' chair and looked over his shoulder as he turned it over in his long fingers, examining it carefully, finally drawing his wand and investigating further.

"This can't really tell us much," he said finally. "It was Transfigured out of an old quill; there's nothing special about it."

"There's a note inside."

Raising an eyebrow, Severus opened the locket and unfolded the note, reading it slowly several times before sitting back and whistling softly through his crooked teeth. "Well, I personally am glad that the Dark Lord didn't discover this," he observed. "It would not have been healthy to be a Death Eater during the rage that would have followed." He regarded it pensively. "R A B... it doesn't sound familiar. But I think I recognise the handwriting from somewhere..."

"A former student of yours?" Harry suggested.

"Perhaps."

"Who?" Ron asked eagerly.

Severus gave him a withering look. "I have been a teacher for fifteen interminably long, dreary and tedious years, Weasley. I have taught hundreds if not thousands of annoying young witches and wizards; I cannot possibly remember them all. And this may not have been a student anyway. The timing seems wrong; I started teaching only a few months before the first war ended. I assume that this R A B must have been another Death Eater..." His voice trailed off and he fell silent, staring down at the scrap of parchment in his fingers.

"We only know most of the Death Eaters by their surnames," Hermione said quietly. He didn't respond, and she realised after a moment that he hadn't even heard her. Smiling wryly, she stood up and gestured to the boys, and they left him to it and retreated to the kitchen.

"He really wants us to break into Gringotts?" Ron asked.

"I doubt that he _wants _to, but, well, if that's where the cup is, then we don't really have any choice," Harry said glumly. "I'd rather try it with Snape than on our own, though. I don't think even Hermione knows enough for us to have a hope of getting away with that. What's this back door he was on about?"

"A back way in and out of Gringotts, I guess. I dunno, Bill's bound by all kinds of charms against talking about the security measures. You reckon we can do it?"

Harry grinned. "Ron, mate, we shouldn't have been able to do half the stuff we've done. We've got this far, haven't we? Might as well keep going. We're half way there – three Horcruxes gone, three to go."

"Good point. Just try not to get us both killed by Snape before we're done."

"You deserved far more than a slap," Hermione said grimly.

Harry tried to look innocent, and failed. Ron snickered. "Come off it, 'Mione. You're snogging Snape and we're not allowed to say how weird that is?"

"No, you're not," she snapped, angry with herself for the blush she could feel heating her face. "Because it's none of your business."

"What's going on with you two, anyway? Have you had a chance to talk yet?" Harry asked, kicking Ron under the table – he kicked Hermione as well by accident, but she decided not to make an issue of it. He did look serious now, and slightly concerned; that was annoying, but he did mean well. Besides, it had been bothering her.

"I don't know what's going on," she admitted quietly. "We've not exactly had many chances to talk, no. There are more important things to worry about right now. Horcruxes, and so on. I... I know he's definitely still interested..." She blushed again, remembering feeling the hot, hard length of his erection straining at the fabric of his jeans; apparently he was extremely interested. Clearing her throat, she continued hurriedly, "And he implied that it was at least a bit serious, but... well, time's not really on our side right now. The war..."

"He's not – I dunno, leading you on, or anything?" Ron asked awkwardly.

"No. No, nothing like that. He's not – you know, he's not trying to... pressure me, or anything." She shrugged and half-smiled. "I think he's almost as confused as I am, to be honest. There hasn't really been time to think things through for ourselves, let alone talk to each other."

"What about..." Harry hesitated, looking decidedly unhappy. "What about my mum?" he finished in a whisper. "I mean, Dumbledore – well, he implied they were... you know..."

"They weren't. Severus told you that himself. There wasn't anything going on. You and I have talked about this already."

"No, okay, but..." Harry huffed in frustration and shoved his hands through his messy hair. "I'm sorry. You're right, it's nothing to do with me, but..."

"It's all right, Harry. You're worried about me. I don't mind that. I still don't know, to answer your question, but I don't think it's an issue. It was all a long time ago. I'm sure he still feels something, but it's nothing to do with... whatever we are. He hasn't really said much but he did make a point of telling me that although he's not quite sure about this, he hasn't felt this way before, so I think that was his way of assuring me _that _isn't a problem. I mean, he knows that I know about – her." She sat back in her chair. "He's not the kind of man to play games. If there wasn't _something _real, he wouldn't be... if it wasn't serious, he'd say so." _I hope._

As they exchanged uncertain glances, Severus came into the kitchen, his eyes alight and the fake locket dangling from his fist, and said without preamble, "I know who R A B is – or was, rather."

They crowded around him. "Who?" Harry asked.

Severus almost smiled. "A bit of family history for you, Potter; his name was Regulus. More specifically, Regulus Arcturus Black."

Harry gaped at him. "Sirius' brother?"

Severus nodded. "He was in Slytherin, a year or two below me; he joined the Death Eaters when he left school too, but he never really had the heart for it. He started looking for a way out almost immediately. He came to me, once, implying that he'd found out something about the Dark Lord, trying to persuade me to join him, but..." He shook his head, his eyes shadowed. "I didn't dare even ask what he'd found out. All I dared do was not tell anyone else that he was thinking of running. He didn't last long; I think he was caught in less than a week after he fled. Apparently it was long enough for him to do this, though. He always was a clever boy."

* * *

><p>Later that night, snuggled down in the bed that smelled like him – she still hadn't been able to persuade him to sleep in his own bed – Hermione turned her thoughts away from the war to focus on Severus. It was high time she sorted out just how she felt about him. Jokes aside... she wasn't sure, but she had a feeling that she really might be in love with him.<p>

It certainly wasn't a crush. She'd been through that with Lockhart – a memory that still filled her with shame – and she remembered how superficial it was. Besides, even with the best will in the world, nobody could possibly describe Severus as good-looking on any level. He certainly had his good points; his black eyes were beautifully expressive when he wasn't using Occlumency, and there was something appealing about his smile on the very rare occasions when he genuinely smiled, and his voice ought to have been illegal, frankly. He looked better now than he ever had, once he had started actually making the effort to look after himself. But still, whatever drew her to him, it certainly wasn't his looks.

She wasn't really sure _what _it was. Once she had started spending more time with him properly and they had begun to get to know one another, they had turned out to have at least a few things in common; when he wasn't being malicious, they had a very similar sense of humour, and they were both intelligent and widely read people. She admired his complete dedication to what they were doing; she trusted him; she felt safe in his presence, despite everything he had done. And the mere memory of his kisses had her fidgeting and pressing her thighs together as her pulse sped up a little bit.

This wasn't something that could be analysed, though, she told herself wryly. She was treating it like an Arithmancy equation, or something; she was definitely over-thinking it – her intelligence might be her greatest strength, but it could be a weakness as well, sometimes. She liked Severus; she liked talking to him, spending time with him – she liked kissing him, too, she admitted, smiling to herself in the darkness. She'd trust him with her life, and in fact had done on several occasions. When she had thought he was dying she had been more frightened than she had ever been, and the idea of losing him caused almost physical pain. Every new event of any importance in her life, good or bad, made her want to tell him about it before anyone else. If that wasn't love, then it was so close that she couldn't tell the difference. It was worth remembering the smell of the Amortentia in their first Potions lesson with Slughorn, too, even if it had taken her a long time to recognise the scent.

As for what he felt... she had been thinking about their conversation in the bathroom a few days ago, and the sneaking suspicion had begun to dawn on her that in this respect, Severus seemed to be as inexperienced as she was. In hindsight, his uncertain attitude seemed less about his being unsure of his feelings and more about his struggle to express himself – he wasn't the kind of man to be uncertain of what he was feeling, but he definitely had problems with opening up to people.

He had been so confident when he kissed her that she was certain the physical aspect wasn't going to be a problem, but although she was sure he knew what he was doing sexually she was growing increasingly certain that he knew absolutely nothing about the emotional side of things. She remembered wondering about his feelings for Lily and speculating about how strong they still were; she recalled thinking back then that he seemed so lonely and that there probably hadn't ever been anyone else in his life of any real importance.

Small wonder that he was unsure of himself, then, really. Perversely, it made her feel a bit better. Hopefully they could work it out together, and at least neither of them would have any real expectations based on previous relationships. And part of her found his awkwardness rather adorable, which would have absolutely infuriated him if he had known about it. In a weird way it was nice to know that she could get through his armour and find his vulnerable side.

* * *

><p><em>Things are progressing rather nicely, aren't they?<em>


	36. Chapter 36

_A bit of introspection, a bit of humour, a bit of plot, an actual serious conversation and the answer to a question... yes, it's another busy chapter!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"I see the magic that we're making now<br>And a veil is lifted from my eyes somehow  
>And the most amazing thing that comes to light<br>Is the world looks different to me overnight..."**  
>– The Moody Blues, 'I Just Don't Care'.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus leaned against the crumbling brickwork and took a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes half-closed. It was nice to get a few moments of peace to himself; it was late enough at night now that even this neighbourhood was quietening down, although by the sound of it the neighbours were still shouting at each other. They'd been screaming abuse at one another for the past ten years; he barely noticed any more, except that it did remind him just how dreadful the local accent was. It still made him cringe to remember that he had once spoken like that.<p>

He looked out at the overgrown mess that had once been his back garden, but he wasn't seeing the cracked paving or the weeds, too busy thinking about the past few days. There was a hell of a lot to get used to. Having someone else in the house, or three someones in this case, was a real change – aside from Pettigrew's mercifully brief residence last year, he'd been the only one here since his parents had died. It startled him every time he heard voices, but at least it was helping keep his memories at bay.

And, of course, there was Hermione. Half-smiling ruefully to himself, he exhaled a thin plume of smoke, relaxing against the wall. Their attempt at a proper talk hadn't been terribly successful, but he'd barely been able to speak at all at that point; absently he ran his fingers over the new scar on his left arm again, unable to leave it alone. They had at least managed to tell one another that it was mutual and probably not casual, and to be honest that was about as far as he'd managed to get by himself anyway. Sooner or later he'd have to do better than that and attempt to behave like an adult, but for the moment he was happy with how things were progressing.

His smile became a smirk as he finished the cigarette – his dreams had been growing progressively more vivid since their first kiss back at Hogwarts, and since the second encounter in the bathroom, well... more cold showers, sadly, since the downside of sharing a house with other people was a complete lack of privacy and it was somewhat distasteful to take more direct action with all of them so close by. Still, he considered it was worth it, and he was privately amused at the strength of his reaction to a couple of kisses; he really had gone too long without human contact, and hadn't even realised how much he was damaging himself. It hadn't all been about arousal, though... when he wasn't puking his guts out in a very strong stress reaction over the past few days, he'd been thinking about her, in between all the other plans he was working on, and mostly he'd been thinking about when she had hugged him.

Somewhat to his dismay, Severus couldn't honestly remember the last time anyone had hugged him. Well, he had a feeling the last time had actually been the night Draco was born, when a very, very drunk Lucius had hugged him shortly before passing out, but that didn't count. Lily had hugged him the first time she'd seen him after being offered a place in Hogwarts, and he remembered having no idea how to respond, but that had been the only time that he could recall. His mother probably had when he was very young, but most of his early memories were deliberately hazy now and he didn't remember. Had he really not been hugged properly since he was eleven? He had searched his memory quite thoroughly over the past couple of days, and he couldn't remember. No wonder it had affected him so much, he reflected as he re-entered the kitchen and locked the back door behind him.

That was going to take a lot of adjusting to, as well. Sharing his life with anyone, even in the smallest degree, was completely and utterly foreign to him. It had taken most of a year for him to stop flinching if she touched his hand, and longer than that before he had even been able to consider actually talking to her honestly. He did genuinely want to tell her how he felt about her – not that he had been able to properly articulate it even to himself yet – but he knew he couldn't, not yet. He'd spent too long shut away from everyone, and it was going to take a while to learn to be any different. But when she'd hugged him, feeling the warmth of her body and realising again that someone else really did care, it had eased something in him that he hadn't known was there. And seeing her break away from his kiss, her face flushed and her eyes glowing with new arousal... he'd never felt more like a man.

He still wasn't quite sure what was between them, but if Hermione could be patient with him for just a little longer, he'd give anything and everything to keep it.

* * *

><p>Over breakfast the next morning, Severus produced the locket again and swung it back and forth on its chain, as they looked at it solemnly. "Any bright ideas?" he asked mildly.<p>

"How do we find out whether he managed to destroy the real one?" Ron asked. "Would he have known how?"

"I don't know. Regulus wasn't much for the Dark Arts, not compared to the rest of us. He was more interested in problem solving." Severus looked thoughtful.

"Kreacher," Hermione said quietly. She'd been thinking about it earlier, once she'd been able to stop thinking about Severus for five minutes – something that was becoming progressively more difficult, especially at moments like this when his hair was damp from the shower and his eyes were glittering with regained health and keen intellect.

The others looked at her sharply before Severus snapped his fingers. "Yes. He'd know. Regulus was the blue-eyed boy of the family. Potter, call the elf." Abruptly he smirked at Hermione. "And you can stop looking at me like that. I'll have you know that I have a SPEW badge in my desk at Hogwarts."

Ron and Harry both started laughing as Hermione stared at him incredulously. "You _what?_"

He snickered, his eyes dancing. "The staff room was full of your little campaign for weeks."

"Oh, God." She could feel herself blushing. _I'm never going to live this down._

His expression softened – slightly, at least, although he was still clearly amused. "The overall conclusion was that your heart was in the right place. Most of your teachers were quite impressed."

"And you?" Harry asked boldly.

Severus snorted. "I thought it was funny," he replied with disarming honesty. "Call Kreacher here. This is the first real lead we've had, and I think it's time we broke the habit of taking all year to get around to some sort of grand finale each summer; I want this finished as quickly as we can manage it."

"Do I just – say his name?" Harry asked uncertainly. "I've never needed to call him before."

"You're asking the wrong person, Potter. If my mother's family ever owned house elves, it was many generations before I was born. I assume so."

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, who shrugged. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he said, "Kreacher?"

* * *

><p>Severus left the three of them in the kitchen talking to the house elf. As soon as he heard the name they needed, he raced into the living room and lit the Floo, calling to Headquarters, and was somewhat dismayed when Dumbledore answered. The old man's voice was icy as he said coldly, "Severus."<p>

"Dumbledore," he replied with a calmness he didn't feel. "How's the arm?" he asked nastily.

"You have no idea of what you've done."

"Because I don't really care that much," Severus replied calmly and honestly. "I am more use here, hunting Horcruxes with these three, than I would be as a pariah after murdering you when the entire wizarding world would hate me. And even with me in charge, assuming that part worked the way you hoped, Hogwarts would be a place of nightmares. Far better that it be closed completely until this is done. God Almighty, Dumbledore, what on earth were you thinking? I would have been a pretty frail barrier between the two sides, the Order would be flailing around like headless chickens in the aftermath of your death, and do you really think three teenagers should be roaming the country looking for Horcruxes by themselves? They're good, but they're also very young and untried. Potter isn't even of age yet."

There was a very long silence. Severus sneered at the fire; he hadn't been expecting an answer anyway. His former employer would also have quite a lot to adjust to, especially if Minerva had actually taken over the leadership as he hoped. Finally Dumbledore said stiffly, "I will fetch Bill."

It wasn't actually Bill that Severus wanted to talk to, but it wouldn't do any harm to check how the negotiations were going, so he said nothing, absently tracing the scarring on his arm again as he waited. A few moments later Weasley's voice reached him. "Hello, Professor."

"Mr Weasley. Have you made progress?"

"Well, sort of. I think they'll be willing to grant what you're asking for, but we're stuck on price now."

"What are they asking for?"

"Two things. One of their goblins is being held prisoner; we think he's at the Malfoys, possibly with a couple of our people. We think Ollivander is there and maybe some others. They want him rescued, which we're working on anyway, that part isn't the problem."

"What is?"

A sigh echoed through the Floo. "They want Gryffindor's sword."

Severus blinked at the flames. "So?"

"What do you mean, _so?_"

He shrugged. "Let them have it, if they want it that badly. It's a lot less than I thought they'd ask for."

"We can't just give it to them."

"Why not? They made it, Weasley. They know the enchantments on it. They know that the sword will answer a call from the Head of Hogwarts, from Godric's biological heir, or from any Gryffindor in dire need. As long as you remind them of that fact, I don't see why they shouldn't have the sword the rest of the time. It's not as if we use it much. They can't stop it being wielded by those who are supposed to wield it, so as long as we agree to give it back each time once it's not needed, I don't see a problem."

"...I hadn't thought of it like that. I don't know if the Headmaster will agree, though."

"It's not actually his sword," Severus pointed out calmly. "He's allowed to use it as a courtesy. If it belongs to anyone, it belongs to Potter. I can get him to sign something if Gringotts want a contract of shared ownership or something."

"Don't you need the sword?"

"Not at the moment. There are other ways of doing what we need to do. And if we do ever truly need it, we can get it, regardless of who claims to own the thing. You say they'll agree to what I asked for, if you can agree a price?" Not that he really wanted to try breaking into Gringotts – he was nowhere near as certain of how to go about it as he was pretending to be – but if the goblins would co-operate just a little, he thought it was at least possible, and God knows he was good at bluffing. They certainly disliked Bellatrix enough – no surprises there, everyone disliked her, including her husband.

"I think so. They seem to believe you're going to get killed, so it doesn't really matter what they promise you."

"Always nice to have a vote of confidence. I don't intend getting killed, if that's any consolation. Anyway, this is good news but it isn't why I called. I need to see Mundungus Fletcher as soon as possible."

"Dung? Er, there might be a problem there. He's gone underground. Nobody's seen him in weeks. We caught him looting one of the rooms and he bolted with a load of stuff, and now we don't know where he is."

Severus bared his teeth at the flames angrily. "Then find him. It's vital that I speak to him; I need to know what happened to one of the things he stole."

"He won't tell you."

"I'll say pretty please," he replied sarcastically; he didn't intend to ask. "As soon as you find him, have Kreacher or – what's the name of the other elf that follows Potter around like a puppy?"

"Dobby."

"Oh, yes, Lucius' old elf... Have Kreacher or Dobby bring Mundungus to Potter as soon as you find him. Speaking of Lucius, you said the goblin and the other prisoners were at Malfoy Manor?" That was news to him, but obviously they would be changing as much as possible to render his knowledge obsolete as quickly as they could.

"We think so. Our intelligence isn't up to much now you're not there, but we're as sure as we can be."

"If they are, I know exactly where they'll be. I'll send you a plan of that part of the manor later." Lucius wasn't daft; his friend wouldn't put up too much of a fight, just enough to be plausible.

"Okay, thanks." There was a pause. "Professor, what's going on? Dumbledore won't tell us anything. All we know is that he's given Harry some sort of task, and Ron and Hermione are helping him. And you, I guess, although I don't think you were supposed to."

"No, I wasn't," he agreed calmly. "I didn't much like my part of the plan, so I changed it. You don't need to know what's going on, Mr Weasley. What you don't know can't be tortured out of you, and it's vitally important that the Dark Lord doesn't learn what we're doing until it's too late. If we succeed, we can kill him. That's all you need to know right now."

"Yes, sir. By the way, Mum wants the four of you to come to the Burrow at the end of July for Harry's birthday."

"It'll be too dangerous. You know what will happen the instant he turns seventeen."

"Yeah, we know. She wants us to celebrate a couple of days early."

"We'll see."

"If that means no, then you're telling Mum yourself, Professor."

Severus snorted despite himself. "Hell, no. Your mother is more frightening than half the people on the other side put together. It doesn't mean 'no,' anyway, it means 'we'll see.' I don't really want a house full of sulking adolescents if I say no."

"Yeah, there've been a lot of jokes about you babysitting." He could hear the younger wizard grinning and rolled his eyes, unable to summon his usual scowl. "Are they all still alive and well?"

"I've resisted the urge to murder them for years despite everything they've done to me. I doubt I'm going to give in now." He had to admit, Potter and Weasley were growing up, albeit very slowly; they weren't _quite _as unbearably annoying as he had imagined they would be, although he would still vastly prefer it if they were a long way away.

"Fair enough. Good luck."

"And you."

He sat back on his heels as the green flames died down to orange, extinguishing them with a flick of his wand, and cocked his head to listen to the quiet voices from the kitchen, nibbling absently at the ball of his thumb as he thought things over. There wasn't really anything else they could do just yet, not until the Order came through with either an agreement from Gringotts or the location of Mundungus, both of which were likely to take some time. Maybe he'd finally have enough time to speak to Hermione properly, although he still wasn't sure what he was going to say.

* * *

><p>"Can we give ourselves nicknames?" Harry asked at dinner.<p>

"No," Severus answered without looking up from his book, propped up against his plate.

"What kind of nicknames?" Ron asked interestedly, swallowing his mouthful.

Harry shrugged, grinning. "I dunno, I was just thinking... I mean, royalty would be cool."

"Royalty?" Hermione repeated.

He nodded, his grin broadening. "Sure. Weasley is our King, after all, and we've got the Half-Blood Prince here, and the Princess of Gryffindor..."

Severus very slowly raised his head and gave Harry an expressionless stare. "Making you the queen, Potter?" he asked in a far too mild voice. "I had no idea you swung that way. Miss Weasley will be heartbroken. Although it does add an interesting new dimension to your constant battles with Draco..."

Harry went very red indeed and shut up hurriedly, as Ron and Hermione both burst out laughing.

* * *

><p>Two days later, the boys were starting to suffer badly from cabin fever. Hermione was reading quite happily, having discovered a box of old fiction paperbacks under the stairs in a forgotten corner with the vinyl collection, while Harry and Ron started arguing about what to watch on the TV – she considered it a pointless argument, since the television was old and cheap; there were only four channels available anyway, the sound didn't work on one and the picture scrolled continuously on another, so they only had a choice of two.<p>

Severus had shown no interest in the television – apparently he usually only watched the news on it anyway – and was once again conspicuously absent, supposedly working on clearing out the cellar; it was increasingly obvious to her that he hated this house. She doubted he was sleeping well and he didn't seem comfortable here. More than that, she had noticed a complete absence of even the small personal touches his teaching quarters had held. The paperbacks she had found were the only non-work-related books in the house; all the others concerned either potions or were magical reference books, including a couple of shelves of books about the Dark Arts he had forbidden them to touch. There was the box of records, but nothing to play them, and no music or musical instruments anywhere. There were no art materials, and no pictures save for the single photo of his parents – marks on his bedroom wall suggested he had gone through the normal teenage obsession with posters, but there was nothing now, no paintings or anything else. His few hobbies were evidently kept strictly separate from his home life.

The argument developed into a wrestling match when the boys started fighting over the switch; without bothering to even look up from her book, Hermione non-verbally Summoned it, turned the television off, and tucked it down the side of the cushions in the armchair she was curled up in. _I'm so glad I don't have any brothers._

Quietly absorbed in the rather battered copy of _Frankenstein_, and idly wondering how long it would take before Severus lost patience with the noise and stormed out of the cellar to vent his growing frustration at them, Hermione nearly had a heart attack when a deafening _crack _scared the living daylights out of her and several figures materialised right on top of Harry and Ron.

Severus arrived a heartbeat later, so quickly she might have thought he had Apparated himself, except that the house was layered with wards to prevent it. Staring at the chaos with a slightly bewildered expression, he caught her eye and shook his head slowly before raising his wand and separating the combatants with a few swift flicks.

Aside from a rather dazed Harry and Ron, the new arrivals turned out to be a struggling, shabby figure being held tightly by a pair of house elves. By the sound of it, Mundungus was attempting to yell, "Let me go!" but was being rather hampered by the rolled-up sock shoved in his mouth. Dobby was scolding him shrilly and Kreacher was hissing, a rather unpleasant sound.

A moment later Harry added to the uproar, launching himself at the thief with a howl of rage; Hermione picked up Sirius' name, but her friend wasn't really coherent at the moment. Ron picked himself up off the floor, cast a very apprehensive look at Severus and promptly came to cower behind her armchair.

"Don't be a prat," she hissed at him.

"I'm not, I'm being sensible," he retorted in an undertone. "Snape's been moody for days, he's obviously spoiling for a fight and he looks like he's about to lose it. I don't want to be in his line of sight when he does – been there, done that, bled for it. You're safe but some of us don't have your protection."

She was about to argue, until she saw Severus' face. A nerve was jumping under his eye, which was always a danger sign. He looked very tired, quite stressed and a little frustrated, as well as seriously annoyed. A moment later he bared his teeth, shoved his wand into his belt and waded into the chaos, unceremoniously seizing Harry by the back of his t-shirt and hauling him back. "Potter, shut up," he snapped, giving him a shake for good measure before deftly tripping him and dumping him on his back on the floor. "Stay there until you've calmed down. Don't make me have to paralyse you. I've had enough." He turned and glared at the others. "Fletcher, so help me, if you don't stop it _right now _I will not be responsible for my actions."

The short wizard stopped struggling and spat out the sock. "Snape? What – what's goin' on? Why're these –"

"Did I tell you to speak? No. So shut it. _Silencio._" Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling. "Right. Has everyone decided to grow up now? I'm so glad."

"We is bringing Mundungus Fletcher to you, Professor," Dobby declared, somewhat redundantly under the circumstances.

"Yes, thank you, I can see that," he muttered. "Right then, Fletcher. Did the elves tell you why they brought you here?" Mundungus shook his head; he had gone very pale under the dirt and was starting to look a little frightened.

"Because you've been stealing again, Fletcher," Severus explained coolly. "Everything of Black's has passed to Mr Potter, here; he was rather upset to learn that you had been pawning his inheritance around Knockturn Alley. Needless to say, he'll be settling that particular debt with you at a later date. Right now, we are concerned with the fate of one object in particular. Don't try to speak; I'm not remotely interested in listening to your lies or your excuses, and your breath is repulsive." He stalked over and reached down to seize a handful of the man's straggling hair. "Look at me. _Legilimens._"

There wasn't much to see from an outsider's point of view. Mundungus' eyes were wide and blank, and Severus was scowling slightly in concentration. A few moments later Severus let go of him and moved away; he was grinning as though Christmas had come early. "Too perfect," he said quietly, his eyes gleaming with pure predatory vindictiveness that made all three former students shiver reflexively.

"What is? Who's got the locket?" Ron asked, apparently no longer so afraid.

"Dolores Umbridge."

"God, really?" Hermione asked, startled. After a moment she started to smile as well, returning Severus' grin. "Well, this should be fun then." They all still owed her a lot.

"Not really," Harry said sullenly from the floor, rubbing his ribs. "How're we going to take on the Ministry?"

Severus gave him a blank look. "We're not. She doesn't actually live there, Potter. We'll find her home address. We're all going to leave the Ministry _well _alone; the Death Eaters have taken over almost completely already, and our merry little band consists of Undesirable Number One, a blood traitor, a Muggleborn, and the half-blood who betrayed the Dark Lord. I'm not going anywhere near the place."

"Plus Umbridge hates Hermione personally," Ron interjected cheerfully.

Severus snorted. "Hardly surprising. I gave Gryffindor twenty points for that little stunt; that's how good it was."

"And the world didn't end?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

He raised an eyebrow. "I took the points back when I realised what an idiot you'd been later on."

"Liar." Even Severus wasn't that much of a bastard. Possibly.

His eyes gleamed briefly in the first proper smile she'd seen from him in days. "Many, many times," he agreed cheerfully, rubbing his hands together briskly.

"What are we going to do with him?" Ron asked, indicating the cowering Mundungus.

Severus gave him a rather indifferent look and raised his wand. "_Obliviate._" The squat wizard's eyes drifted out of focus, and Severus turned his attention to the two elves. "Dump him outside Borgin & Burkes. He owes Mr Borgin a great deal of money, so that should keep him occupied for a while. You can find him again later when it's time to recover everything he took." Apparently Dobby and Kreacher were also part of the very large group of people too nervous to argue with Severus Snape; sketching jerky bows, they vanished with a sharp _crack._

Ron frowned. "What did you do that for? I like Dung."

That earned him a withering stare. "He's a gutless little worm who would sell his own mother for a few Knuts. Five minutes after we let him go he'd be running to absolutely everyone with news of where we are and what we're planning, especially if he thought they would pay him for the information. Unless you'd prefer I killed him instead," he added with an edge to his voice, the brief flash of a good mood fading as though it had never been, turning on his heel and stalking back into the kitchen.

Hermione's temper snapped. Giving Harry and Ron a pointed look, she followed him and shut the door behind her, casting _Muffliato _before asking in exasperation, "What's wrong with you? You've been acting like this for days."

He turned at the door that led to the steps down to the cellar and glared at her. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Oh, don't you _dare _say it's my fault."

Blinking, he backtracked hastily. "That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

"No!" The vehemence in his voice silenced her, as did the frustration in his eyes. He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head jerkily, his eyes growing dull, and slowly moved to drop into one of the battered chairs around the table, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

"Severus?" she asked uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

"Everything, I think, or almost everything," he said after a moment, lifting his head to show her the crooked half-smile she liked. He sighed. "Sorry."

She rolled her eyes. "Severus, we've had years of you being a bad-tempered bastard. I think we're immune by now." Pulling out another chair, she sat next to him and reached to rest her hand on his scarred forearm; since recovering from the Dark Mark's removal, he was keeping his shirt sleeves rolled up, although sadly he hadn't been wearing t-shirts yet. There were faint red lines on his skin; she'd seen him absently scratching at the scar a few times now. "Talk to me, for once, instead of snarling at me. For the sheer novelty value, if nothing else."

"Impudent wench," he murmured, but he was already looking a little better. Resting his chin on his hand, he looked down at her fingers resting on the scar inside his forearm and sighed. "I never wanted any of this, you know," he told her quietly. "I've never wanted to be in charge of anything. I'm a follower, not a leader. I don't want to be sitting here trying to come up with ways to do the impossible, knowing that lives depend on whether or not I can think of something in time. I'm not suited to it. I would far rather have someone I trusted simply tell me what to do."

He hesitated, then looked directly at her and spoke with uncharacteristic frankness, his gaze startlingly open. "I'm so scared of making a mistake that I can't sleep, not that I've ever found it easy to sleep in this house. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. I've betrayed everything and now I'm... floundering, for lack of a better term, trying to keep moving and hoping like hell that I don't screw up. And then there's... us."

Severus looked back at where her hand rested on his arm. "This wasn't supposed to happen, either. Whatever _this _actually is, because you're an intelligent young woman, Hermione, and I'm sure you've worked out by now that I haven't got a clue what's going on between the two of us. I haven't been avoiding you because I don't want to talk. I've been avoiding you because I don't know what to say." His crooked smile came and went again. "I could do without Statler and Waldorf as an audience, too."

She grinned despite herself. "They're not that bad, admit it. I mean, I'd prefer they weren't here either, sometimes, but..." To be honest, things would be ten times more awkward without the boys acting as a buffer and giving the two of them time to sort things out. Either she and Severus would have had a terrible fight by now, or sheer tension would have led to something she at least wasn't ready for – she did want him, but it was all so new to her, she'd never felt like this before about anyone, and she wanted a little more time to get used to it before moving further.

He breathed out slowly. "Let me show you something, Hermione." As she watched, he gently drew his arm away from her and rested the fingers of his left hand on his right forearm. "_Finite,_" he murmured softly. Uncomprehending, Hermione stared at a rather nasty scar that had suddenly become visible, encircling his arm, and at the battered and tarnished strip of metal bound around the limb just above it. Severus loosened it with his fingers and let it slip down to his wrist. "Do you recognise this?"

"No..."

He held his hand out to her and she looked more closely. Her breath caught, and she stared at him, confused. "It's the bracelet I gave you for your birthday." She hadn't given it another thought, actually, since he'd accepted it; she would never have seen it under his work clothes anyway, with their long buttoned sleeves, and when she had seen his bare arms he'd been hurt enough that she had been concentrating on healing and hadn't thought to look for it.

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "Or, rather, it is what is left of it."

"What happened to it?" she asked, leaning closer. It was blackened, scuffed, dented and bent, and frankly looked like it had been run over or something.

"It saved my life," he said simply.

"I don't understand..."

"Nor do I." After a moment he began to explain. "It was when I was being tortured. You saw how close to death I was. It was worse than you know; I was dying. And then something happened that I cannot explain. You remember how drained you were, afterwards? That's because you had been using your magic for hours before I was dumped outside the gates. I don't know what happened, or how, or why, but somehow the bracelet was drawing on your magic to heal me, when I was dying. Without it, I would be dead. I know that, because it has formed a life debt."

"What?"

Severus shrugged. "I owe you for my life. Don't look like that; I don't care. I owe you for far, far more than that anyway, and I don't need magic to remind me." Before she could ask just what he meant by that, he continued calmly, "That was the night I decided to find another way. I decided to abandon my godson, to break the promise I made to Dumbledore on my knees, to turn my back on everything I still believed in and throw myself into the fight rather than letting other people dictate the course of the future. And I did it for you. Because this..." He tapped the scar lightly with a finger. "This means something. I think it might be something worth living for."

Forcing words past the lump in her throat, she managed to stammer, "Severus, I – I don't know what to say..."

"Welcome to my world," he replied dryly, half-smiling as he looked at her. "I'm no good at this, and I never have been. I rarely know exactly what I feel, and I've never been good at expressing it. This absolutely terrifies me, more than anything else I've ever experienced. And there's still no time to think. Because tomorrow, with luck, we're going to find and destroy the fourth Horcrux, and then we need to find a way to get to the other two."

Hermione nodded slowly, thinking about everything he had said, relieved that he had confided in her at last. "I never noticed that you didn't like being in charge," she said after a moment, and saw his eyes dance with wry humour in response.

"You weren't supposed to notice. It would be a very poor defence mechanism if it didn't provide any defences."

She grinned at him. "You're actually a softie under all that, aren't you?"

He almost laughed. "Really, Miss Granger," he drawled, mockery in his eyes, "I told you myself that I am a bastard. That part isn't an act."

"You'd be insufferably boring if it was," she told him happily. "By the way, you know Statler and Waldorf think we're snogging right now, don't you?" If not doing more than just kissing. The thought didn't make her quite as nervous as it had done previously.

"Is that an invitation?" he asked silkily, before smiling – a proper smile, that very rare expression that softened his eyes and eased a lot of the lines in his face. "It's tempting – you have no idea how tempting. But not now. We both still have much to think about." He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles, and just that light touch was enough to make her shiver. "Go and think of some fun things to do to Dolores Umbridge tomorrow. We all have scores to settle. One thing at a time."

"Okay. But..." She hesitated and he looked at her inquiringly. "I – I'm not playing games. I know what you've been thinking, a few times. Like at Slughorn's Christmas thing. That wasn't – it was never about Ron, or anyone else, at least not entirely. It was mostly aimed at you, I think, even if I didn't realise at the time. I was trying to work out what was going on, and – and I wanted to make you see me as something other than just a schoolgirl."

He chuckled softly, his eyes glittering. "You succeeded admirably," he said dryly. "I couldn't sleep for three days after that little stunt, and I remember several long cold showers. It wasn't necessary, though. I hadn't seen you as 'just' a schoolgirl for some time before that." Abruptly his smile turned so wicked that it should have been illegal, making her shiver again. "I spent half a term the previous year trying to think of a tactful way to hint to you that you needed a proper sports bra if you were going to be running with any man under the age of at least eighty. You have no idea what that did to me."

"Really?"

Severus grimaced and pushed his hair back from his face. "I'm only human, Hermione. I wasn't comfortable with thinking about a girl less than half my age in those terms, particularly one of my students, but it didn't take me long to realise that I couldn't stop it." He shrugged and gave her a rueful smile. "It helped that you have always been mature for your age, at least."

More pleased than otherwise, she returned the smile before changing the subject. "So what can we get away with doing to Umbridge tomorrow?"

His expression was decidedly evil and rather unsettling.

* * *

><p>Severus left late the next morning to pay a visit to Headquarters; he was back less than half an hour later with an address written on a scrap of parchment and the information that Umbridge would probably be back from work at around half past five that evening. Hermione and the boys spent the rest of the day gleefully coming up with progressively less likely and more gruesome ideas of what they could do to her, given that after they had robbed her they would have to <em>Obliviate <em>her anyway; they also confirmed Mundungus' story, finding a photo of the new Ministry in the _Daily Prophet _and enlarging it to confirm that Umbridge was wearing the locket around her neck in place of the string of pearls she had worn previously.

The house itself had them all staring for a little while. It was Harry who said after a pause, "It should be against the law to make pretty thatched cottages look that creepy."

"It is a bit sinister," Hermione agreed. Harry had his Cloak; the others were Disillusioned, skulking behind a neatly trimmed hedge full of concealed thorns. "Severus?"

"Yes?" his voice replied from somewhere to her left, where he was examining the front door to find out what spells were in place.

"If she's wearing the locket openly, why hasn't anyone at the Ministry realised what it is? You said the Death Eaters had fully taken over by now."

"None of them know what it is. Unless you're actively looking for something that feels like a Horcrux, you'd miss it. I walked straight past Ravenclaw's diadem for years and never felt a thing, and nobody spotted the diary either."

"You-Know-Who would recognise it, though, wouldn't he?"

"I doubt he's there. The Ministry was only ever a means to an end; he's not interested in governing, just in using the power it represents to do whatever he wants. On the few occasions when he does visit, he wouldn't take any notice of low-level minions, only of whoever he left in charge."

"She's touching the Horcrux, though," Ron said from somewhere on Hermione's other side. "She's got it round her neck. Shouldn't that – I dunno, send her mental or something?"

"How would we tell?" Harry asked with a bite to his voice; she didn't need to see him to know he was rubbing the back of his hand.

Severus was silent for a few moments before he replied quietly, "Potter's right. Dolores Umbridge is... flawed; I saw that in your fifth year. There is a... darkness in her that gave her that sadistic streak. She had to justify it to herself first, but once she had, she was able to freely abuse anyone she chose. The Horcrux will only magnify what is already there, which goes a long way towards explaining the horrors we've seen in the papers in such a short time. If she were to wear it for too long, she would eventually be taken over by it; she would end up joining the Death Eaters, and rising very high, before the Dark Lord realised that she was slowly turning into – well, his clone, for lack of a better term, at which point he would be able to possess her completely, although I can't think of why he would want to. But that would take years. Weasley, come here for a moment."

"Me? Why me? I don't know anything about lock spells. I mean, Fred and George tried to teach me a bit, but..."

"You don't say," Severus replied sarcastically. "Come here. You're the only pureblood in our group and one of these wards is keyed to blood purity; if I tried to break it, I would be hurt, as would Potter, and it would probably kill Hermione to try."

"I've been meaning to ask," Harry said conversationally, "what exactly is my blood status? I mean, people keep saying I'm a half-blood, but I'm not because neither of my parents were Muggles. My mum was a witch and my dad was a wizard, so I can't be a half-blood, but I'm not really a pureblood either, am I? Is there such a thing as a three-quarters-blood?"

"Well, there's three-quarters of a train platform, so I don't see why not," Hermione pointed out. He was dead right, though, although she hadn't ever really thought about it before.

"You're a freak," Ron told him cheerfully. "But then, we knew that."

Even across the garden, they heard Severus snort. "You could pass for a pureblood in the right circles, Potter, because you have the surname of a very old pureblood family. Your father's bloodline goes back past Godric Gryffindor. Most people know your mother's name, but it's doubtful many will remember that she was Muggleborn. Evans is a fairly common surname."

"Oh... so people know you're not a pureblood because it was your father that was a Muggle?"

"Yes. My surname gives it away."

"Hence the Half-Blood Prince?" Hermione asked mildly, remembering that Slughorn had thought she was related to a long-dead pureblood wizard because they had the same surname.

"Must you constantly bring that up?" he gritted. "Weasley, get a move on, will you?"

"Sorry, sorry. Hang on, I think I've got it now."

"How's it looking?" Harry asked uneasily. "I don't think we should hang around out here. It feels like someone's watching us."

"Or something," Severus said darkly. "The wards are down, but the door is still locked. Give me a minute, it's been spelled to be magic-proof."

"You can pick locks?" Hermione asked interestedly as a faint scratching sound came from the direction of the door.

"I would look very stupid right now if I couldn't," he replied dryly. "This is an easy lock, it won't take long."

Abruptly Harry took his cloak off, bundling it up and stuffing it inside his jacket before drawing his wand. The others instantly cancelled their Disillusioning charms and went for their wands; Severus drew his wand and held it in his teeth as he continued to work at the lock. He was wearing his now clean and repaired robes, apparently out to intimidate Umbridge, and it stirred slightly in the breeze and pulled tight across his shoulders.

"Harry, what is it?" Ron asked urgently.

"Dementor," Harry said, shivering. "I can feel it coming."

"She's got a Dementor guarding her house? That's paranoid, even for the Ministry."

"Paranoia comes on tap there," Hermione muttered, looking around. "Ground or air, Harry?"

"I don't know. Wait – there. Ground. Crap, there's three of them..."

Severus left the lock and stood up, crossing swiftly to stand with them as the three hooded figures drifted closer. As the cold swept over them, all four raised their wands. "_Expecto patronum!_"

Four silvery animals charged forward, followed immediately by Severus swearing in a shocked voice and almost dropping his wand. The teenagers looked at him curiously; he was staring after the Patronuses with a stunned expression on his face, and he had gone very pale.

Hermione followed his gaze. Harry's stag had taken on one Dementor, and her otter and Ron's terrier were working together to take on the second one; the third was backing away from a snarling silver fox with the rangy build, tattered brush, torn ear and patchy fur of an urban survivor. She thought for a moment it was just the shock of seeing Prongs, but that didn't make sense; the staff would all have talked about Harry having his father's Patronus.

"...I take it that's not what your Patronus used to be?" she asked Severus quietly. Personally, looking at it, she thought it was absolutely perfect for him; cunning, tough, fierce and adaptable. And possibly rather battle scarred, under the silver glow.

He was still staring at the fox as though he had never seen it before, since apparently he hadn't. "No," he agreed quietly in a slightly hoarse voice. "I haven't been able to cast a Patronus at all in over a year. Before that... before that..." He hesitated, licking his lips, keeping his eyes on the Patronuses as the Dementors began to retreat. "Before that," he continued slowly, "it was a doe. As Lily's was."

Quite a long silence followed that; none of them really knew what to say. Lily Potter was very much a forbidden topic, and they hadn't tried to discuss it with him since Dumbledore had revealed the truth to them all.

It was Ron who broke the mood. "Your Patronus was a _girl_?" he asked with a deliberately mocking grin; he had grown much better at judging when his humour was appropriate and when it wasn't.

Severus blinked, returning to the real world, and gave him a withering look. "Because your little puppy-dog there is the height of masculinity?" he asked sarcastically as Harry and Hermione tried not to laugh. "Believe me, it wasn't my choice."

"So why has it changed?" Hermione asked, as the Dementors finally gave up and left and the Patronuses faded; the otter ran over to the fox before they vanished, she noticed.

He gave her a faintly incredulous look. "You can't think of any reason why it might have begun to stop representing her during your fifth year?" he asked pointedly. Before she could respond to that – not that she would have had any idea of what to say – he continued briskly, "As for why it didn't take a new corporeal form until now, I imagine it's to do with removing the Dark Mark, as well as my own increased clarity of thought. I suppose now it is finally free to take its real shape; I think the fox was what it always should have been, what it would have been had I been less... emotionally troubled."

"Not an otter, then?" Ron asked, and visibly cringed at the white-hot glare the question earned him. "Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"Idiot," Severus muttered, although he didn't sound as angry as he seemed. Turning back to the door, he knelt on the step once more and returned to the lock.

Harry kicked Ron gently. "That's for _unrequited_ love, stupid," he whispered. "Think about it. I bet Tonks' isn't the wolf any more now Lupin's stopped being an idiot."

"Wrong," Severus said distantly, apparently having heard despite the low tone. "It's the difference between freedom and a chain."

The boys looked blank. Hermione smiled a little, pleased at the implication – an otter really wouldn't have suited him anyway. "He means I don't demand anything of him," she explained calmly. "I'm not a source of guilt or obligation. He doesn't have to be someone he's not, with me, so he can be himself." Severus was a lot healthier now than he had apparently been as a boy, no longer having to define himself through other people and learning to actually be himself for possibly the first time.

"So matching Patronuses mean an unequal relationship?" Harry asked, looking a little uncomfortable.

"In my case, yes, but not always," Severus provided without looking up. "And if you don't want me to eavesdrop, you might as well actually speak to me."

"Would you answer?"

"It depends on the question. But not right now. Ah, got it." There was a click and he stood up, opening the door. "Come on. She'll be home soon, especially if the Dementors raise the alarm." He stopped in the doorway. "My God."

"What?" Hermione asked from behind him. He moved, and she stared. "Jesus. How can there be this much lace in the world?"

Harry gagged as he followed them inside. Ron looked ill. "It's Great-Aunt Tessie all over again."

"Yeah, your old robe would look great here." Harry rubbed his eyes. "I would have expected cats..."

"Oh, please," Hermione told him, grinning. "No self-respecting cat would put up with her; why do you think she had to settle for those ugly plates? Crookshanks would have had a field day in here, clawing everything to ribbons and spraying it all." Her familiar usually had impeccable manners despite being a tomcat, but this much lace would tempt any cat to start scratching.

"So much pink. It's Lockhart on Valentine's Day, only worse."

Harry and Ron both turned to smirk at Hermione. That would have been bad enough, except behind them Severus was doing the same thing; she felt herself blush and hated it. She hadn't realised he knew about that as well. _It must have been an Occlumency lesson. Damnit._ "I hate you all."

"I doubt it," Ron said cheerfully. "So what's the plan?"

"We conceal ourselves and wait. As soon as she closes the door behind her, Potter will Disarm her and Hermione will put her in a Body-Bind. Weasley, you get the locket off her neck, and try to only touch the chain; drop it on the floor as soon as you've got it away from her, and make sure it's out of her reach. I'll deal with it if she has time to cast anything."

"Why don't we just Stun her?"

"Because I want to use Legilimency – well, no, that's a lie, I'd rather drink raw sewage than look through her head. But I want to find out what's really happening at the Ministry; the papers won't report everything, and with Kingsley gone our only deep contacts there are Arthur and Tonks, neither of whom see much. Besides, she might actually know something useful about the Death Eater movements, although I doubt it."

"You can't do that while she's unconscious?"

"Oh, yes. But where would be the fun in that?" Severus replied with a straight face, his eyes glittering with cheerful malice. "We'll have to wipe her memory afterwards, but before that I want her to know exactly what's going on..."

* * *

><p><em>Some more lovely fan art from <strong>RaShelli:<strong> _rashelli dot deviantart dot com /art/I-m-free-281125614

_And on the subject of fan art, FFN in their... wisdom... have (hopefully only temporarily) disabled external links on user profiles. So none of my fan art links will be working for a while, presumably. Hopefully, this won't be for long._


	37. Chapter 37

_Toad torture time. Although this chapter mutated suddenly on me and demanded a lot of rewriting, so it's a bit different now...  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Revenge is the fire that consumes without compunction or conscience. Nobody is safe from a man with revenge in his eyes and rage enshrouding his heart."<strong>  
>– C Allison.<p>

* * *

><p>During the tense minutes while they waited for Umbridge to arrive, Hermione reflected that it was nice of Severus to give them each something to do, but she was certain it was absolutely unnecessary. He would probably prefer to deal with this by himself, to be honest, and she doubted that he would actually need any of them at any point. It was obvious now why he was allowing her to stay around, but she still hadn't quite puzzled out why he was letting the boys get involved or why he had been so reasonable to them over the past year. The Order would naturally be suspicious if she was staying with him on her own, but she couldn't really see him caring about that. Harry and Ron seemed to be taking it all for granted, and even enjoying bantering with him as though he were anyone else in the Order – they almost seemed to have forgotten five years of intense hatred, but she knew Severus had not. She was starting to suspect he was only allowing it because of her, or at least that was why it had started originally – by now, weirdly, the three of them did seem to be sincerely getting along.<p>

The sound of a key in the door interrupted her wandering thoughts and she raised her wand, slowly so as not to disturb the renewed Disillusion. She could see the shimmer of Ron nearby doing the same; Harry was truly concealed thanks to his Cloak, and she wasn't sure where Severus was, which was rather the point.

The plan worked without a hitch; less than ten seconds after the front door clicked shut, Umbridge was unarmed and motionless on the floor with her eyes bulging in outrage and shock, and Ron had the locket held above his head triumphantly as they cancelled their concealing charms and Harry folded up his Cloak, holding the toad's stubby wand in his other hand. By mutual accord, the three of them let Severus move forward to speak first; he would certainly be much better at gloating.

He looked very much Professor Snape again as he slowly and deliberately walked into Umbridge's field of vision, smirking with all his former cold, mocking arrogance that had made them all hate him for so many years; Hermione was amused to find that it had the exact opposite effect now, and that she was enjoying this far too much. He might look far better than he thought he did in Muggle clothes, but part of her had missed seeing him in his robes. Umbridge seemed to be enjoying it rather less; her eyes were bulging dangerously far now, shock giving way to fury as she recognised him.

Severus held his wand dangling loosely from his fingers, almost negligently, clearly not considering her a threat; even that, he made into an elegant insult. "Good evening Dolores," he murmured silkily, his expressive voice becoming a mocking drawl.

Trying very hard not to laugh, Hermione carefully relaxed her Body-Bind enough to let the toad speak – not that she had much to say, being reduced to a hoarse, "_You!_"

"This is going to be a very scintillating conversation, clearly," Severus drawled, his eyes glittering with contemptuous amusement, before he moved a step to one side. Taking her cue, Hermione moved to stand beside him, and Harry moved to his other flank with Ron.

Umbridge's eyes moved from one to the other, growing even wider as her face began to flush with fury. "You... all of you... what..."

"Was she this eloquent in your 'Defence' lessons?" Severus inquired idly, the inverted commas dropping into place clearly, arching one eyebrow in slight disdain.

"She was clear enough when she was telling us that the Ministry thought Harry was a liar and wouldn't risk letting us learn anything," Hermione replied, trying her best to imitate his smirk; she knew she couldn't hope to emulate him, but she had her own vindictive streak, and this was _fun. _"And when she thought she had scared me into sobbing and betraying all my friends."

He almost laughed as Umbridge managed to swell even further with anger. "That is the government for you. Very talkative when things are going well in their blinkered minds, but when someone actually dares to disagree with them, they cannot cope with the shock."

"She was clear enough when she was threatening to _Crucio _me, too," Harry said grimly. He wasn't smiling and didn't seem to be enjoying this as much as the rest of them were.

Severus shot him a sharp look, apparently not having known that, before looking back at their victim. "Did she, indeed. How very foolish. And dangerous, for someone in her mental condition... using the Unforgiveables is more than simply pointing your wand and saying the words." His smirk returned as he took a step closer. "Is this true, Dolores?" he asked mockingly. "Ah, wait, I overlooked the fact that you are not physically capable of agreeing with Potter. I can sympathise with that, to some extent," he added dryly, his eyes gleaming.

"Severus, I don't know what you think you're doing, but whatever plan you have, you would be of more use at the Ministry..."

"Oh, shut up, you vicious and incompetent hag," Severus told her in a rather satisfied tone. "Tell me you don't believe that I actually liked listening to you babble nonsense all year, or that I was actually helping you. We had wagers running in the staff room, you know, concerning who could annoy you the most and which students would come up with the best stunts."

"Who won?" Hermione asked with a delighted grin.

"Professor McGonagall took the pot at the end of the year, despite my best efforts and those of Professor Flitwick, but I did win some money thanks to certain young wizards and their fireworks." He smirked briefly and looked back at their victim. "Now, Dolores, we are going to have a little chat, although I do find it very irritating to talk to you. I suggest you co-operate, since the four of us have been rather busy and have grown a little short-tempered of late."

"You dare threaten me, Snape? The Minister – the Dark Lord..."

The smile that crossed Severus' face then left his eyes cold and almost cruel, his face set in hard and unyielding lines. "The Dark Lord does not frighten me any more," he replied softly, "and whichever poor fool you have set up as a puppet Minister doesn't frighten anyone."

"Traitor!"

"Pervert," he answered in a distant tone, his lip curling with scorn. "Even among the Death Eaters, the darkest dregs of our society, few would hurt children for fun. You sicken me, and that is not easily done, I assure you. I don't believe I want to bother with a pretence at civil conversation; I can get the answers I need easily enough. And afterwards..." His tone lightened, almost whimsical. "Well, young Gryffindors, what shall we do with her?" he asked, nearly teasing, his eyes mocking.

"Transfigure her into a toad!" Ron said enthusiastically.

Fighting a laugh, Hermione contributed, "Take her back to the Forbidden Forest and give her back to the centaurs!"

"Curse her so everything she says becomes croaking noises."

"Turn her skin and hair pink."

"Make her smell of catnip and fish."

"Blow her up like a balloon, like Harry did to his aunt."

As though the mention of his name had flicked a switch, Harry finally spoke again, in a rather odd voice. "Find her foul quill and make her bleed."

"_Stupefy,_" Severus said hastily, flicking his wand at Umbridge as Ron and Hermione turned to stare at their friend – they'd been joking about it all day, but he had actually sounded serious. "Potter, what – ah... I see." He moved forward, turning to glance warningly at them and motioning them back a little, as Harry stared down at the unconscious witch with an ugly look on his face that they hadn't seen in a long time.

Hermione hesitated, torn between wanting to go to her friend and wanting to trust that Severus knew what he was doing, looking between the two of them anxiously as Harry's hands clenched into fists and his eyes hardened. Ron took a step forward, and Severus reached out to grab his shoulder, pulling him back and giving him a warning look before moving forward himself.

His voice was very quiet as he spoke to Harry, but the atmosphere was so still that they could hear him clearly. "Well, Potter? What shall we do now? You could get revenge on her now, if you wanted to. The only witnesses are your friends, who would never say anything, and myself – and I don't care. None of us would stop you. What she did to you was obscene. You will bear the scar she gave you for the rest of your life. So, what will you do about it?"

"I hate her," Harry said in a strained voice that was thick with anger.

"I know," Severus replied calmly.

"I want her to suffer."

"I know."

"...I want to hurt her."

"I know."

Harry raised his wand and stopped, staring down at the unconscious woman who had tortured him for daring to tell the truth, who had prolonged the war by at least a year because of the way she had interfered with the Order at Hogwarts, who had tried to cripple them all and leave them unable to protect themselves. For a long, frozen moment, nobody dared breathe, before abruptly he dropped his wand and turned away, hunching his shoulders and exhaling raggedly with a muffled curse.

"Well done," Severus told him quietly, without even a faint trace of sarcasm for possibly the first time ever.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Harry tugged his glasses off and started to clean them on the hem of his t-shirt. "Does it get easier?"

"Yes and no. It never gets less painful, but you learn to deal with it more easily."

"Does it ever go away?"

"Ask me again in fifty years or so." Severus nudged Harry's wand over to him with the toe of his boot, and he picked it up and put it back in his pocket.

"How do you live with feeling like this?"

"You find things that are more important, and you learn to forget that you feel like this. You learn to ignore it, until you need it, although I am living proof that it doesn't always work. The first time is the hardest; you've won the first battle."

"What would you have done if I hadn't managed it?"

"I would have stopped you."

"Can one of you translate, please?" Hermione asked, finally losing patience. "I don't understand anything the two of you just said."

They exchanged glances before Severus gave her an amused look. "You wouldn't. It was... very definitely a male thing, I think. I doubt it would make sense to any woman, even one as perceptive as you."

"I didn't understand it either," Ron said plaintively.

"Well, you're not much of a man, Weasley," Severus told him dryly, drawing a yelp of outrage from him as Harry stifled a half-hearted laugh, looking a little better.

"Severus..." Hermione said warningly. He gave her the closest he ever got to an innocent look, before shrugging one shoulder.

"Potter has finally learned to properly control his anger. Truthfully I wouldn't object if he hadn't managed to restrain himself – I doubt Dolores Umbridge has ever been on the receiving end of pain in her life; it might do her some good to start understanding what she does to other people – but given his existing temper, I don't think it is a good idea for him to start dabbling in the Dark Arts. Fortunately, he didn't."

"Okay, that's great, but... this thing is whispering," Ron said uneasily, holding the locket up by its chain.

"What?" Severus asked sharply.

"I can hear it whispering to me. It's not loud enough for me to hear what it's saying..."

"_Don't _open it! Christ, boy, haven't you learned anything? Give it here." Severus gingerly took the chain from the redhead, who looked rather shaken by the vehemence in his voice, and held it at eye level, narrowing his eyes. "Hmm. Interesting."

"Severus, you're being cryptic again," Hermione told him irritably, giving Harry a pat on the arm before crossing over to peer at the locket past his shoulder. "_What's_ interesting?"

"This one seems considerably stronger than the diadem was."

"Maybe it was the first one he made?" Ron suggested, rubbing his hand on his jeans.

Harry rejoined the conversation, looking a little better. "No, I told you about the memories. The diary and the ring must have been the first ones. He didn't manage to get hold of Slytherin's locket for a while. Why would this be stronger?"

Severus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "The diary was able to drain Miss Weasley's life force and to possess her, albeit only temporarily. The ring was powerful enough to curse Dumbledore fatally. I believe that either this must be the third he created, or it is somehow enhanced by his blood ties to Salazar Slytherin. Perhaps both."

"It would make sense for it to be the third," Hermione said pensively. "Each one would be weaker, wouldn't it, because it would be a smaller piece of his soul? This doesn't seem like it's going to possess or curse any of us, as long as we don't open it, and it hasn't done much to Umbridge yet. So that means the diadem was a later one?"

"Later, yes, but not much later, because he still looked more or less human when he went back to Hogwarts to hide it," Harry contributed. "I reckon the diadem was the fourth one, which means Nagini and Hufflepuff's cup will be the weakest ones, doesn't it?" he added, looking relieved.

"That would make sense," Severus agreed guardedly, "but don't celebrate too soon. We have to get to them, after all. Destroying them is relatively easy."

"Are you going to burn this one too?" Hermione asked. He met her eyes for a moment, both of them remembering the diadem, and she grinned; his eyes glittered with amusement and a certain lazy heat that had her heart beating faster, before he looked back at the locket.

"I suppose so. We don't have any basilisk fangs around, and Gryffindor's sword is better off where it is right now, which doesn't leave us with many options."

"Why do you get all the fun?" Ron asked. "Can't we get to destroy at least one?"

"I told you before, I am not teaching either of you Fiendfyre. It would kill you, and probably anyone near you. If you can think of another way, then by all means take a turn." Ron scowled, and after a moment turned it into a mock-pout that became a rueful grin as he gave up.

"Fine. It's not fair, though."

"Life isn't fair," Severus told him mockingly. "So, you three, in rather more seriousness now... What do we do with her once I have what information she possesses?"

"What would you do if you were doing this by yourself?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

He shrugged. "Kill her, simply because it is the simplest solution and the least risky. But I am not by myself, so I am asking you all. What do you think we should do?"

"How is it the least risky? Wouldn't people miss her?" Ron asked, frowning a little.

Severus shrugged again. "Perhaps, but the Ministry is full of quill-pushers who can organise, and most of them don't have many emotions – she would be easy enough to replace, and besides, even Death Eaters have standards; I can't think many of them like her much. Nobody would look too hard if she didn't come to work tomorrow."

"You can cast a strong enough memory charm to stop her remembering what happened, can't you?" Harry said.

"I can, yes." He regarded each of them in turn. "Think it through to the end. She forgets what happened today... and she goes back to work tomorrow. The Horcrux wasn't controlling her. She chose her side – she isn't under the Imperius curse. She will return to interrogating and registering Muggleborns and half-bloods, to separating families, to turning innocents over for torture or imprisonment."

The three of them exchanged looks. Finally Harry shook his head jerkily, rubbing the back of his hand. "I can't think about this. You guys decide."

Ron and Hermione stared at one another before looking at Severus. Finally Ron asked, "What are our choices? Kill her or let her go?"

"'Our' choices?" Severus asked softly. "Could _you _kill her, Weasley? Like this? Even if you believed it was for the best... could you kill her in cold blood? She can't fight back."

"...I don't know. I – probably not, no." Ron licked his lips uncertainly.

"There's no shame in that." Severus shrugged again. "I can do it, if that's what we decide is the best option, but you need to think it through. This isn't a matter for jokes now. This woman certainly deserves to suffer, but none of you have the stomach for it, and nor do I any more. Do we kill her, or do we let her continue as she has been, turning our government into a concentration camp?"

There was quite a long silence, before Hermione said very quietly, "Is there a third option?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because there normally is, with you. Nothing's black and white, remember?"

Abruptly he smiled, arching an eyebrow. "Good. There is always another choice. Any thoughts on what?"

"Make her do something different," Ron suggested. "The Imperius curse, maybe." He grinned. "Make her help little old ladies across the street."

"Ha," Severus murmured, his eyes glittering for a moment. "You're thinking along the right lines, I think, although the Imperius curse wouldn't hold her for long – it goes too deep now, she's too twisted. Have any of you ever read A Clockwork Orange?"

"I've seen the film..." Hermione replied.

He gave her a sceptical look. "Really?"

"...I've seen some of the film," she amended with a sigh, glaring at him.

He smirked at her. "Did you manage to see the ending?"

"No, but I know the story..." She blinked. "Can Legilimency do that?"

"Translate, please," Harry said plaintively. "I've heard of the film but I don't know what it's about."

"It's about a young man who's an absolute sociopath, spends all his time stealing and raping and beating people up. The government did something to his brain and made him physically unable to harm anyone. Is that possible, Severus?"

He shrugged again. "I have no idea, to be truthful. I wouldn't do anything that extreme anyway; it would be noticed. But it might be possible to limit the damage she can cause. The question is whether or not it is worth trying – I doubt she has managed to rise so high that someone else can't take over from her in mere seconds. Let me wake her up and see what we can learn, and then we will decide..." He raised his wand once more. "_Ennervate. Petrificus Totalus. Legilimens._"

* * *

><p>Severus watched the images flickering before his eyes, making no attempt to look for anything specific yet, getting used to the unpleasant feel of her mind. He hadn't been lying when he had spoken of raw sewage – this was going to leave him wanting a long bath. He had known people like her, twisted and dark and ugly, but there was usually a reason – a bad childhood, or sheer insanity, <em>something. <em>With Umbridge... nothing. She hadn't been terribly popular at school as far as he could see, but she hadn't been bullied either; she had been a non-entity. No dark family secrets, either. And, most worrying of all, she wasn't actually insane. There was a worrying cold rationality to her; she genuinely believed in what she was doing, and a dark sadistic part of her enjoyed it.

It made his skin crawl, frankly, and he was beginning to wish he had let Potter attack her, although that would have done unfortunate things to the boy's psyche. He was actually quite impressed that he had managed to control himself – Severus wasn't sure he could have done the same at that age, in those circumstances. _No. Focus now. _He returned his attention to the flashes of memory, and looked for the Ministry, watching Umbridge's rise to power as briefly as possible – he really hadn't wanted to know just how she had got Fudge to promote her; God, that was enough to make him want to vomit. Fudge ousted after the disaster in the Department of Mysteries, and Scrimgeour taking over only to prove just as ineffective... word reaching them of Hogwarts being attacked, and then suddenly Death Eaters everywhere... Brief hours of chaos, a ruthless and startlingly precise takeover. And then... control.

Hearings and interrogations, relieved purebloods, nervous half-bloods and terrified Muggleborns. Dementors everywhere, and prisoners in chains. Magic Is Might – that too nearly made him sick. _Hail to the master race. _He was more relieved than ever that he had escaped this; he had no wish to have to pretend to follow this abomination. A brief and distant glimpse of Voldemort himself, arrogant and twisted and monstrous as ever, flanked by the Malfoys and the Lestranges – mercifully, not Draco. Umbridge's thoughts were confused; part of her didn't want to follow him, but the Horcrux had already got a hold on her, and was feeding on her desire for power. The Taboo... Snatchers – press gangs? That was new...

As he had expected, nothing much about overall strategy. She'd had no contact with any of the inner circle and only ever seen the Dark Lord once at a distance – just as well, or Snake-face would have recognised the locket and then all Hell would have broken loose. Severus didn't want his former master to learn what they were up to until they had destroyed the locket and the cup; in an ideal world Voldemort would remain blissfully ignorant right up until the moment his snake dropped dead, by which time it would be far too late.

Breaking the connection with some relief, he stood up again, rubbing his hands on his robe and feeling rather soiled by what he'd seen in her head. "Well, that was fun," he muttered sarcastically, non-verbally Stunning Umbridge again so they could talk relatively freely. "She doesn't really know anything useful, not from our point of view, although I did get a few scraps the Order may find useful."

"What's it like at the Ministry now?" Weasley asked. "I got the impression from Mum that Dad won't really say much, and Tonks isn't back at work yet."

"If she's got any sense at all – which, come to think of it, she probably hasn't..." That brought indignant huffs from all of them, but Severus stuck by his opinion – Lupin aside, _they _hadn't seen Nymphadora Tonks let loose in a Potions classroom. She had actually been a worse and more dangerous student than Longbottom, although not by very much. "As I was saying," he continued, giving them a stern look, "if she has any sense at all, Tonks will not go back. Half-bloods are having a rather difficult time at the Ministry at the moment." He gave the prone and paralysed Umbridge a look of disgust.

"I'll send a full report to Minerva later. For now, the short version is that Scrimgeour is dead and has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, formerly Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Thicknesse is not a Death Eater; Yaxley put him under the Imperius curse last year. In fact, Yaxley now has his old job. My former colleague here is in charge of the newly formed Muggleborn Registration Commission," he added grimly, avoiding Hermione's eyes – it was all too easy to imagine her in the memories he had just seen and he didn't need any new nightmares.

"Muggleborn Registration Commission?" Potter repeated, sounding angry again. "Is that what it sounds like?"

Severus nodded. "All Muggleborn witches and wizards must be registered and controlled – and imprisoned. The new Ministry claims to have research 'proving' that they stole their magic from 'real' witches and wizards. I doubt many prisoners are going to survive," he added bleakly. "The ones sent to Azkaban are the lucky ones."

"Surely people aren't turning up to be registered?" Hermione asked, and he shook his head.

"They got to Hogwarts' records; your fellow students are being hunted down as we speak. There are gangs of Snatchers roaming the length of Britain. They are also after anyone labelled a traitor – mostly us, but also the known Order members, and any purebloods or half-bloods daft enough to openly object to what is happening."

"What can we do?" Potter asked, his usual hero complex rearing its ugly head again.

"_We _do nothing, Potter. We have our task. We pass this to the Order and let them decide what they can do with the resources they have. The four of us can do nothing about this. This is what you agreed to." His voice was softer than it might ordinarily have been; Severus wasn't any happier about this than the boy looked. "It will not be easy to do anything. You've seen the _Prophet _now. It's little more than a Death Eater newsletter full of lies and propaganda. The vast majority of wizarding Britain don't know what has happened."

He gave them a moment to absorb this, biting his lip absently before he caught himself and stopped with an annoyed scowl. Clearing his throat, he said quietly, "I'm going to recommend Arthur gets out of the Ministry – it will leave them blind, but he's being watched and it's too risky. The Order are going to need to reorganise themselves – they'll need a new Secret-Keeper for Headquarters before Dumbledore dies, or they'll have to find somewhere else to use."

"There are plenty of safe houses..." Potter began, and Severus choked back a hollow laugh, shaking his head.

"There's no such thing as a safe house any more. I held back as much as I could, as much as I dared, but I couldn't avoid revealing anything at all. They know approximately where Headquarters is, although obviously the Fidelius charm still protects it while Dumbledore lives. They know where the Burrow is and I wouldn't trust in the protection surrounding it if they decide that's where you three are hiding. I didn't tell them directly where Shell Cottage is but they know of its existence. The Order need to pick one hideout, either Grimmauld Place or somewhere entirely new, and stay there. I'll tell Minerva that later." He shook his head. "It's worse than I thought. This is going to take years to repair." After a moment he shook off the dark mood. "All the more reason for the four of us to succeed as quickly as possible, then."

"Are my family in danger?" Potter asked quietly.

Severus shook his head. "Your aunt's house is protected in a number of ways. We're not daft. And I never told anyone where they were. You don't share a surname with them; the Dursleys are just three Muggles as far as the Death Eaters are concerned. They're in no more danger than any other Muggles would be."

"Did – did you see anything in her head about my brother?" Weasley asked in a small voice. "Nobody's heard from Percy since we saw him at Christmas. Mum's clock says he's not dead, but..."

"I didn't see anything about him," Severus replied softly. "I don't think he will be in any immediate danger, if he keeps his head down. He has made it clear he is not affiliated with his blood-traitor relatives. He will be watched, no doubt, but he should be safe enough." Unless he came to his senses and tried to run. He kept that to himself; no point upsetting them too much.

"This means I dare not do much to Umbridge," he said quietly. "She stands higher than I thought, and if she suddenly changes her stance, or vanishes, people will grow suspicious. The Dark Lord and several of the others are capable of breaking a memory charm if they know it's there. God, don't look at me like that," he added tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't like it either, but it's more important that we keep what we are doing a secret until we have Hufflepuff's cup and some way of killing Nagini. If the Dark Lord finds out we know about the Horcruxes before we've destroyed them all, he'll protect the remaining ones so strongly that we'll never be able to get to them, and we'll lose the war. I told you, sometimes there are no right choices."

He watched the three of them exchanging glances, seeing his own anger and frustration mirrored in their faces. Finally Hermione said in a small voice, "She can't be allowed to get away with it, Severus."

"She won't," he replied quietly. "Not for ever. When this is done, she'll be punished for everything. One way or another. I promise you that." _Even if I have to do it myself. _Not that he thought it would be a problem – once he told the Order the truth about her and showed them Potter's hand, they'd fall over themselves to make the bitch pay. He shrugged helplessly. "I don't see any other choice."

He met her eyes for a long moment, seeing true anger but mostly a kind of annoyed resignation – she understood, but that didn't mean she had to like it. He glanced at the others; Weasley was staring at nothing, probably worrying about his family, and Potter was obviously fighting his anger issues again. Sighing, he shook his head irritably. "Come on, let's get this over with and get out of here. Disillusion yourselves and get ready to leave. Weasley, still got the locket? Good. Don't drop it. Or open it." He cast his own Disillusion again and levelled his wand at the unconscious witch. "_Ennervate._"

As she came around, he leaned closer and whispered, "We owe you, Dolores. For Potter, and for Minerva, and for everyone else you've ever harmed. What goes around, comes around. We'll be seeing you soon." Straightening up, he flicked his wand briskly, removing the Body-Bind, and concentrated. "_Obliviate._"

As an afterthought, as he left, he aimed at her one last time and murmured a rather nasty little jinx; it would take a few days to start having an impact, but it would slowly begin to do a number of unfortunate things to her digestive system that would gradually worsen until she started being very ill indeed. There was no reason why they should let her escape completely unpunished, even if this was far more petty than anything he had wanted to do.

* * *

><p>Once they had left Umbridge's house, Severus insisted on using Side-Along Apparition to take them somewhere else – somewhere that turned out to be what looked like the inside of an abandoned warehouse or factory or something. Hermione was still trying to work it out when Ron asked, "Where are we?"<p>

"Somewhere I can destroy a Horcrux without damaging anything too badly," Severus replied. "Once we add a few protective charms, anyway. I know my house isn't much, but it's all we've got right now and until I can afford somewhere else I'd rather not risk burning it down. Potter, do _not _use magic while we're here, under any circumstances."

Harry looked blank. "Why?"

"You're still under seventeen. All underage wizards have something called the Trace put on them as soon as they start school; it's designed to detect it if you use magic outside Hogwarts."

"That doesn't make sense," Harry objected. "I've been using magic since we left Hogwarts."

"You've been using magic at my house, or Headquarters, or Umbridge's pile of vomit-inducing pink lace. As with many things the Ministry does, the Trace is easy to fool – if there is an adult wizard in residence, they are assumed to be the source of the magic. Purebloods and half-bloods are supposedly able to control their children so their Traces don't work very well. When magic was done near you at your aunt's house, they knew – or assumed – it was you because there were no wizards living nearby. The same with you, Hermione, had you ever actually broken that rule. I got away with using magic in the holidays because they assumed it was my mother."

"Does that mean I could have used magic outside school and nobody would have noticed?" Ron asked indignantly.

"Assuming you could have done so without your mother catching you, yes," Severus told him dryly. "Either way, Potter, just don't use magic here. You'll need to Side-Along with someone to get home. Stop pouting, it's only for another week, isn't it? Hermione, Weasley, help me protect the walls so I don't accidentally burn this place down. Potter, make yourself useful and keep an eye on the locket. If the whispering gets louder or anything about it changes, tell me – I don't like the way it seems so much stronger than the diadem was."

"Should you be using Fiendfyre right now?" Hermione asked in an undertone as they worked. "You seem more stressed... I mean, last time was certainly fun," she added, grinning and trying not to blush, "but we're not alone this time..."

"Behave yourself," he told her, his eyes glittering with a hint of a smile, before it faded. "I don't think I'm going to react as well this time, no. Once you've seen it destroyed, you should take those two and go home; leave me to calm down a bit. I won't lose control, not dangerously, but I would prefer not to say or do something I later regret and it will be better if I'm on my own."

"I'd rather not leave you..."

"I know, and I appreciate your concern, but trust me on this, please. I won't be in danger, but you might be. I know what I'm like, and I don't want to risk hurting you, physically or otherwise. I'll be able to control myself more easily if there's nobody else nearby to worry about. Besides, Potter will probably need to talk."

"I didn't realise he was still so angry about things," she said quietly. "He's seemed so much better recently."

"That sort of anger doesn't go away," Severus told her softly. "He'll be fighting it for most of his life. As I have done. He's got the knack now, though, and he will control it."

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

"For the last time, yes," he told her, sounding exasperated, although his eyes were smiling again. "Stop worrying about me."

"Never."

He snorted, trying not to look pleased, and flicked a hand at her. "Come on, let's get this done."

Hermione stood to one side with Ron and Harry, at what Severus said was a safe distance, watching him preparing; he stood over the locket with his eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly.

"What happens to You-Know-Who when one of his Horcruxes is destroyed?" Ron asked idly while they waited.

"We're not sure. It weakens him a bit, presumably," Hermione replied. "And it makes him less stable – Severus thinks he's so much crazier this time around because the diary had already gone, and he said things did get worse after Dumbledore broke the ring."

"Oh, good, he'll get even crazier. That's going to be fun," he said gloomily.

"Crazy people make mistakes, remember. I think Severus is hoping it will scare a few of the other Death Eaters into backing off a bit and not trying so hard, too."

"Have you two talked much yet?" Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes, amused. "We're making progress, yes. It would be a lot easier without you two around, though," she added, mock-glaring at him. "All right, he looks like he's ready now," she added before either of them could respond.

Severus had opened his eyes, which were remote and Occluded and distant. He raised his wand, his lips moving silently, and Hermione watched again as a spark appeared at the tip of his wand and began to glow brighter and brighter before forming a slender thread of fire so hot it was almost white. The thread flowed downwards and split to touch the locket at several different points, and the chain instantly melted and dissolved into a few spots of liquid metal before the locket itself began to heat up.

She could see that Severus was finding it more difficult this time; he was trembling slightly and his eyes were almost glassy as the power rose around him, stirring his hair and his robe. The lines of his face hardened; she'd seen this in the Room of Requirement, watching in nervous fascination as so many different emotions played over his face, but his anger seemed stronger now. Hardly surprising – she wasn't exactly jumping for joy about what they'd learned from Umbridge, and she was certainly not happy about having to let her go.

The locket was glowing red now, and rocking back and forth slightly as it grew hotter and finally started to melt; Severus bared his crooked teeth in a silent snarl, beginning to sweat, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated. For a long moment, everything seemed frozen, as the temperature rose and the pressure in the air increased; then _something _gave way and the locket jerked, rolling over. The catch melted and it fell open; there was an absolutely dreadful scream that faded into a mournful wail and died away, and the locket abruptly became a puddle of brightly glowing molten metal as the Fiendfyre suddenly vanished.

For a heartbeat Hermione thought it was Severus who had screamed, but it wasn't; he had staggered slightly when it happened, but apart from that he hadn't moved, and he wasn't blinking as he stared unwaveringly at the remains of the locket. His eyes were burning with terrible hate, as they had done before, his hands clenched into fists, and the only sound was his heavy breathing.

"That felt weird," Harry said thickly, rubbing his scar. "Really, really weird."

"It hurt?" Ron asked.

"No... just felt weird."

"Helpful, mate."

At the sound of their voices, Severus turned slowly to look at them. His expression was a little distant, and it was hard to tell if he actually knew what was going on at the moment, but his eyes were burning as he stared briefly at each of them, his gaze lingering longest on Hermione. She could see desire there, as she had before, but it seemed darker now and she could understand why he wanted them to leave. "Come on," she told them softly. "He'll be fine."

* * *

><p>It was only about half an hour before Severus came back, joining them in the living room. He looked tired, more than anything, but a lot calmer. Pulling something out of his pocket, he tossed it onto the small coffee table beside his armchair; a fused, twisted lump of metal. "Anyone want a souvenir?" he asked sarcastically. "Salazar would be so disappointed to know what had become of his heirloom."<p>

Hermione refrained from asking if he was all right; she knew the question annoyed him, and he almost certainly wouldn't answer honestly anyway, and he looked all right. "So, that makes four Horcruxes. We should be celebrating, shouldn't we?" she asked lightly.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, with a gesture that took in the shabby surroundings. "Don't say alcohol, either of you," he added without missing a beat as both Harry and Ron opened their mouths.

She looked around and shrugged, conceding the point. "Fair enough. It seems a shame nobody else knows what we're doing, though."

"We'll just have to make up for it by having a hell of a party when it's all over," Harry said confidently; he'd cheered up a lot since earlier.

"Goody," Severus muttered sarcastically.

"I still want a chance to destroy a Horcrux," Ron told him. "I mean, I know it's dangerous, and it looked dangerous, but... it looked really cool."

Severus gave him a long, expressionless stare, his black eyes narrowed. Finally he pronounced dryly, "You're an idiot."

"He's not wrong, though, this time," Hermione murmured, watching in some amusement as he tried not to look pleased.

* * *

><p>The next morning Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the bed and slowly working a comb through her curls, idly watching Severus, who had come upstairs to dig through his clothes to find something to wear after his shower. The boys had the radio on downstairs, far too loudly as usual, and he was distractedly humming along under his breath; she wasn't sure he had actually realised, but she was enjoying listening to him. He finally grabbed a dark flannel shirt from the wardrobe and turned, half-smiling at her as he headed for the door; smiling back at him, she asked, "Severus?"<p>

"Yes?"

"I've been meaning to ask – why don't you have more music here?" He looked blank, and she shrugged, keeping her tone light. "You've got all those records, but nothing to play them on, for a start..."

"Ah." He leaned against the doorframe and gave her a slightly sheepish look. "I used to have a turntable. I had a... disagreement with it a couple of years ago, and never got around to replacing it. I don't know if you can even still buy them any more, actually. Isn't everyone using cassettes and progressing to CDs now?"

"Not everyone; there are still record shops around. What sort of disagreement?"

"The drunken sort, as you well know," he chided softly, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I haven't had a drink in months."

"Harry and Ron did notice there wasn't any booze around here."

"No, there was, when we first got here. I got rid of it all that first night, because it was that or drink it all. I'm not an alcoholic, usually, but during the first war and its aftermath I lost control, and I was drinking too much this time before I stopped. In peacetime, I don't have a problem, but right now it's safer if there isn't any alcohol nearby." He shrugged and added, "If they'd tried the stuff I usually drink, they'd have been very, very ill indeed, anyway – and it is technically illegal for any of you to drink in the Muggle world, or for Potter to drink at all, come to that."

"Because you care so much about that," she teased gently, remembering brandy lacing spiced tea a year ago. His eyes warmed briefly with the same memory, and she leaned against the wall, returning to the original subject. "You don't have a piano here either."

His smile faded and he shrugged. "I can't play here, even if I had the space. It... feels wrong."

"I heard you play once," she told him softly, wondering briefly how he was going to react.

Severus frowned slightly, seeming more puzzled than anything else. "Really? How?" he asked.

"Dilys, of course! She showed me a passage in the dungeons that runs past your bedroom. The walls were too thick, I couldn't hear very clearly, but... you're very good."

He rubbed the back of his neck with a slightly uneasy expression, nodding neutrally. "...Thank you, I think," he responded awkwardly.

Relieved that he hadn't stormed off, Hermione smiled at him and returned to carefully combing her hair. "How long have you been playing? I shouldn't think many wizards learn the piano."

After quite a long pause, he exhaled and leaned his head back against the doorframe, his dark eyes half-closed. "Lily's mother had a piano. It was the first time I had ever heard one, or seen any sort of musical instrument except in magazines. I was fascinated. Neither of her daughters cared, so she taught me a few simple scales, and how to read music; then I went to Hogwarts, and became interested in other things, and that was that for many years. After the first war was over, I had too much on my mind, too much going on – well, I was a wreck, frankly..."

Hermione nodded, remembering Madam Pomfrey's notes. "Hardly surprising, really," she said softly as he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.

He nodded distractedly, his eyes distant. "I needed something safe to calm me down. I had always liked music. It was the summer, and I was listening to the radio – I couldn't listen to the things I usually enjoyed, the rhythms were too jarring, so I was listening to a lot of classical music, and it seemed to help, sometimes. So I saved up and bought a piano and some music, and taught myself to play properly." After a moment he smiled a little. "That makes it sound a lot easier than it actually was... it took years."

"It was worth it," she told him quietly, deciding not to mention his singing just yet; he was clearly uncomfortable with talking about this. "What about art?"

"Oh, I always liked drawing," he said more casually. "It was a nice cheap hobby, after all. Even a household as poor as ours usually had a stub of pencil and some scraps of paper lying around, even if they were only old betting slips."

"You seem good at that, too."

"Only with some things. I can't really explain it very well."

"There aren't any pictures here at all. There are paintings in your rooms at school, but none here..."

"No. That's... I really hate this house," he said quietly, shrugging a shoulder. "Putting paintings here, or even just redecorating, would be like... planting flowers around the edges of a land fill site. Nothing could make this place look better. And I can't draw here, any more than I can play the piano. The atmosphere is... wrong." He gave her a speculative look. "Why do I suspect this is more than merely your usual endless curiosity?"

She smiled at him. "I'd like to hear you play properly sometime, that's all. I suppose I'll have to wait a while."

His smile turned crooked. "They're not cheap. I think it might be a while before I can afford another one of that quality. The one at Hogwarts... suffered an accident."

"Oh, no. You didn't..."

"Not deliberately," he replied softly, sounding tired. "And I wasn't drunk. It was the night Dumbledore chose to dig up ancient history for Potter... I truly do not remember what happened, but the following morning half my possessions were destroyed beyond repair." Pain flickered briefly through his eyes, before he shrugged. "I'll replace it one day." Hesitating for a moment, he glanced at her a little uneasily. "You never did say how you knew..."

"Nobody told me anything, except that your Gryffindor friend was dead," she said quietly. "I didn't recognise her surname for a while, and her first name was never mentioned. It took about a year for me to put all the little pieces together. And I didn't tell anyone else." She met his eyes steadily. "It really doesn't make a difference to me, you know."

Severus searched her gaze uncertainly before taking a deep breath. "It doesn't make a difference to me, either," he said quietly. It had clearly cost him something to say it; it was almost sweet, and a little sad, to see just how hard he was trying.

Hermione smiled a little, starting to realise just how much they were both over-thinking things, sliding off the bed and crossing the room to him; he watched her in momentary puzzlement that yielded to something darker and more intense before he dropped the shirt on the floor and moved to meet her. The kiss started slowly, and she closed her eyes, relaxing into the warmth of his body as she wound her fingers into his hair; his mouth opened under hers, his tongue pressing past her lips, and things suddenly became less gentle. She arched her back to press against him as his hands slid down her back and under her top before pushing the cloth upwards, his fingers warm on her skin as he pulled her closer and they kissed more fiercely.

When they pulled apart briefly to catch their breath, she stared into his eyes breathlessly, her heart pounding against her ribs as she reached up to touch his face. He half-closed his eyes as her fingers brushed his lank hair back out of the way and gently trailed down his cheek, swallowing, before opening them again and giving her a look of such pure want that she almost couldn't breathe, feeling her whole body react. Smiling very slightly, he cupped her face gently in his hands, leaning in for a slower, sweet kiss that had her melting against him to feel his growing arousal, before to their mutual dismay they heard footsteps thundering up the stairs.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake," Severus whispered against her lips in a rather hoarse voice, before straightening up and giving her a look that was half-laughing and half-annoyed and did nothing to dispel the heat in his eyes. "Are you sure you want to keep them?"

"Feel free to kill them," she assured him breathlessly, tugging her top back down. "I'll lie for you in court."

"Don't tempt me." He bent to retrieve the clean clothing he had dropped, shaking his head and giving her a long, intent look filled with promise. "One day we're not going to be interrupted," he told her in almost a growl, before sweeping out of the room – not easy to do in jeans instead of flowing, billowing robes, but he managed.

As the bathroom door clicked shut, Hermione leaned out of the bedroom doorway and glared at the culprit just reaching the head of the stairs. "Harry, I am going to hurt you."

"What did I do?"

* * *

><p><em>Yet more lovely fan art from <strong>RaShelli: <strong>_rashelli dot deviantart dot com /art/Plotting-the-Revenge-on-Umbridge-282085860

_And from **doll-fin-chick: **_doll-fin-chick dot deviantart dot com /art/Loten-A-Sign-of-Change-282075209

_Apropos of absolutely nothing, **Kay Nastalia **is looking for a HP beta, if any of you folks would be willing to drop her a mail and help out.  
><em>


	38. Chapter 38

_Ahem. This chapter (finally) contains lemony goodness. As will quite a few subsequent chapters. Enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"'Cause I can feel you breathe<br>It's washing over me  
>And suddenly I'm melting into you<br>There's nothing left to prove  
>Baby, all we need is just to be<br>Caught up in the touch  
>Slow and steady rush<br>Baby, isn't that the way that love's suppose to be  
>I can feel you breathe..."<strong>  
>– Faith Hill, 'Breathe'.<p>

* * *

><p>It turned out that the entire Order wanted to celebrate Harry's 17th birthday in style, even if it would have to be a few days early. Rather unfairly, in Hermione's opinion, they set Molly Weasley to achieve this, via a Floo call; she was pretty sure that was against the rules. Severus had been trying to agree for the past fifteen minutes, but Mrs Weasley hadn't paused for breath yet and hadn't heard, and he was starting to look a little harried. Evidently even he wasn't enough of a bastard to lose his temper with her – either that, or she scared him, which was quite possible. She could be a very scary woman at times.<p>

Finally Ron took pity on him and moved closer to the fire and all but screamed, "_Mum_!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, Ronald Weasley!"

"Sorry, Mum. But Professor Snape gave up ages ago. You can stop nagging him now. He said yes."

There was a pause; they could hear laughter in the background from the other side of the Floo. "Oh. I'm sorry, Severus. I... didn't hear you."

Severus rolled his eyes, looking torn between amused and irritated. "I gathered. It's fine, Molly. Take the three of them for the night. It'll be nice to have some peace for once. And not to have to feed the bottomless pit you call a son."

"You're not coming?"

"To Harry Potter's birthday party?" Severus asked; the sarcasm in his voice was almost thick enough to choke on. "No, thank you. I would rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon."

"Oh, Severus, don't be like that."

He rolled his eyes again. "I don't do parties, Molly. Besides, even you can't possibly pretend that anyone else wants me there. I'll be fine."

After the Floo call ended, Harry grinned. "Why don't we just set her on You-Know-Who? I bet she'd have him apologising for not wiping his feet and promising to clean his room inside half an hour."

"The woman is a force of nature," Severus agreed wryly.

"Why do we have to celebrate early?" Hermione asked him. "What happens when Harry turns seventeen?"

He blinked at her before scowling. "Why am I surprised that Dumbledore didn't bother to explain that to you? It's to do with the protection on his blood, and the reason why he had to stay with the Dursleys for as long as he did. As long as you live with an adult blood relative, Potter, the protection your mother's death gave you severely limits what can be done to you; that's why you were never attacked in the summer holidays, except for the Dementors by accident. One second past midnight on your birthday, Potter, that protection ends, and it's open season, although frankly I never really understood how it worked. I find it hard to believe your mother was the only woman to ever die for her child, but there we are. You'll be more at risk than you were, although given how much you attract trouble anyway I shouldn't think it will make much of a difference."

"What makes this house safe?" Ron asked interestedly. "I asked around, and nobody in the Order knows what you've done to it."

He snorted. "Hardly a surprise. It's nothing to do with the Dark Arts, if that's what you're thinking. At least three generations of my father's family have owned this house outright – no rent, no mortgage. It belongs to the Snape family on a deep fundamental level. As a wizard, I can take advantage of that; it only took a couple of basic blood wards to set up the protection. It's the only reason I still live here, or I would have torched the place years ago," he added darkly.

"Could we do the same thing to the Burrow?"

"I don't know. Probably, but it's not really necessary; there are plenty of other protective spells around the Burrow. Besides, so many other Order members use it as a temporary safe house that it wouldn't be practical. And if Minerva paid attention to my report, nobody will be living there at the moment."

* * *

><p>Hermione had been doing a lot of thinking during the following day, although she didn't make her mind up for certain until they were almost ready to leave for Grimmauld Place. As they prepared to light the Floo – Severus was down in the cellar again – she cleared her throat. "I'm not going with you."<p>

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to spend some time with Severus," she replied quietly, before giving them both a stern look as they both started to blush. "Oh, get your minds out of the gutter, both of you. We've never had a chance to spend some time together, just the two of us, not since finding out we both feel something for one another; it's been weeks since I've been able to talk to him, and I miss it. I love you both dearly, you know that, but I really want you to be a long way away for a little while. I'll see Harry on his real birthday anyway. I'd like to see everyone else, but it's going to be absolutely insane there, and I'm not much of a party person either really."

Ron shrugged. "Your party, Harry. What do you reckon?"

"I reckon she's mental," Harry said dryly, grinning at her. "If you'd really rather spend time with him than us, then go ahead. I guess it can't be much fun for the two of you trying to sort everything out in between Horcruxes with me and Ron hanging around," he added innocently, and she nearly started laughing, certain that neither he nor Ron had any idea how often they had accidentally interrupted something. "What do we tell everyone else, though?"

She shrugged. "Just tell them Severus and I are working on something important. It's true, as far as it goes; we still need a way to get at Nagini and we've been trying to come up with a list of the defences we might find on Bellatrix's vault. Or say I'm not well, or something. It's your party, Harry – I doubt most people will even notice I'm not there after the first few minutes." She flapped a hand at them. "Go and have fun."

"Okay. We'll see you sometime tomorrow. Bye, 'Mione."

"Bye."

Once they had gone, she heaved a sigh of relief, listening to the wonderful silence of the house, before glancing in the direction of the kitchen and the cellar and biting her lip. The boys hadn't been far off the mark, gutter minds or not... she did genuinely just want to spend some time with him, but at the same time she was acutely aware that this was probably the only privacy they were likely to get until the war was over and there was no guarantee that they would both survive that long. She knew she would never have the confidence to initiate any sort of seduction – she wouldn't even know where to start, beyond kissing him and hoping they would both get carried away without being interrupted, which seemed to lack elegance – but if something did happen, she wasn't going to say no. Her dreams had been growing rather vivid recently and she was tired of waking up in a sweat, restless and aching. If something didn't give way soon, the tension was going to drive them all insane, and although she was still a little nervous about this next step, it was residual nervousness now rather than anything genuine.

Padding into the kitchen, she hopped up onto the worktop and settled down with her book in full view of the door leading to the cellar, listening with half an ear to the sounds of him pottering about. She wasn't sure what he was doing down there, exactly, but occasionally the vent in the overgrown garden produced some very strangely coloured smoke.

About an hour later Severus came up the stairs, humming absently under his breath, at least until he saw her and swore. "Bloody hell, Granger! What are you still doing here?"

"Charming. Thank you for that."

He gave her an annoyed look and flicked his hair out of his eyes. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I didn't realise anyone was still here. You're lucky I didn't hex you before realising who it was. Why aren't you at the party with your little friends?"

She put her book down and smiled at him. "I decided I'd prefer to spend some time with you than be slowly deafened while watching the Weasley brothers teaching Harry and Ron how to drink until they puke. It's going to be absolutely insane there and I'd rather be here. If that's all right with you, of course," she added archly.

He seemed surprised but pleased, as far as she could tell; it wasn't often she managed to catch him off guard. "I... well, yes, of course. If that's what you want."

"It is," she told him firmly, sliding off the worktop. "What have you actually been doing?"

"Restocking, mostly. There wasn't time to collect anything from Hogwarts, so the Order's stock of healing potions was virtually non-existent, and I used up most of what I had left here in those first two or three days."

"You could have let me help. I've been going insane with nothing to do, and you know I like watching you work."

He shrugged. "I told you, I don't want you going anywhere near the cellar, at least not until I've neutralised or removed some of the worst of the cursed stuff. I've been trying to sort through all the crap that's accumulated down there over the years, but it's slow going. Anyway, I think better when I'm brewing. Not that I've had any flashes of inspiration recently."

Hermione gave him a critical look. "You've been spending too much time down there, anyway. You look exhausted. And you need a shower."

"Thanks," he replied dryly, before shrugging again. "True, though, I suppose. I was done for today anyway."

"So what did you have planned for the evening that I've managed to spoil?" she asked.

Severus smiled at her. "Absolutely nothing. Let's see what food there is left and make a start on dinner, then I'll go and take a shower. Assuming they haven't left the bathroom in a state again," he added darkly.

"I did have another discussion about house training with them the other day. It shouldn't be too bad."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

* * *

><p>This evening was definitely a lot more fun than watching the Weasleys avoiding their mother's stern eye long enough to get drunk, Hermione reflected cheerfully as she helped clean up after dinner. An odd thought occurred to her and she laughed softly. "I just realised... why do you do the washing up and the laundry by hand? I always have because it's what I'm used to at home, but you're not Muggleborn."<p>

Severus smiled at her; over the past couple of hours he had relaxed for possibly the first time in months and seemed calmer and more willing to talk than she had ever really known him to be, and he was obviously appreciating the chance to talk without anyone else around – he had apparently missed their conversations as much as she had. "Partly out of habit, since I clean all my Potions equipment by hand for safety's sake, but mostly, if you want the truth, it's because I'm terrible at domestic spells. I can just about manage to clear dust away, but anything that actually needs cleaning properly, I have to do by hand."

She mimed a gasp, confident enough to tease him now. "Are you telling me that you're not brilliant at everything?"

He snorted. "What on earth could possibly have made you think I was?"

"Your grades, for a start."

He blinked at her. "You looked up my exam results?"

"...Yes."

After a moment he chuckled softly and returned to drying the last plate. "I don't know why I'm even surprised. You never did do anything in half measures. I hope you realise that you are expected to beat my record?"

"I can't. I only got an E for my Defence OWL. And it doesn't look like I'm going to take my NEWTs."

That earned her another snort. "You've looked forward to those exams since the moment you heard about them, Hermione. It's going to take more than the Dark Lord and his army to stop you. You will. And you'll get Os in both Defence and Potions, or I'll know the reason why," he added sternly, drawing a reluctant giggle from her – she had the feeling that he really meant it.

"But my teacher has been distracting me," she teased, making him smile. "Do you really think I'll be able to take them?"

"As soon as the school reopens," he assured her. "Assuming we win, of course. I wouldn't be surprised if you were made Head Girl, either."

"I used to dream about that, as sad as that sounds," she noted, moving around him to put the clean glasses and cutlery away. "Now, though, I think I'd rather not."

"Well, I'm sure you can name whatever terms you like," he told her, closing the cupboard. "You could take your NEWTs tomorrow and get a passing grade in every subject, even without the seventh-year material, you know. I doubt you'll need to sit the whole year. A term at most. Then you can take your exams and get on with the rest of your life."

"Doing what?"

"Anything you like." He smiled a bit lopsidedly at her. "If we pull this off, you'll be almost as famous as Potter. You can do literally anything you want."

"And what about you? What will you do, if we win? Will you go back to Hogwarts?"

He shook his head emphatically. "Hell, no. I'm sure it will come as absolutely no surprise to you to learn that I utterly despise teaching, and the Headmaster is certainly not going to be in a hurry to welcome me back even if he lives that long. My Potions contract isn't in force any more and my Defence contract was only for one year, so I am under no obligation to return. As for what I _will_ do..." He paused for a moment, and then said quietly, "That, Hermione, rather depends on you, I think."

His black eyes were intent and unwavering, and the look in their dark depths sent a little shiver through her as her thoughts cleared and her emotions crystallised with almost painful clarity. Suddenly absolutely certain of her feelings, she smiled a little shakily at him in response, moving closer to him. "Good answer," she whispered, looking up at him.

She could feel the warmth of his body, smell his soap and shampoo. Slowly she raised a hand, touching his cheek gently before resting her palm on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under her fingers, and moved closer still until their bodies were only a hair's breadth apart and her breasts brushed his chest as she breathed.

His pupils had dilated, his nostrils flaring slightly as she licked her lips, and his voice was deeper than usual as he said quietly, "Hermione, you are making it very difficult for me to behave myself."

Gathering her courage, she gave him another shaky smile and whispered, "I'm rather hoping that you won't."

A moment later she was in his arms, his lips coming down on hers. This kiss pulled no punches; he wasn't holding back at all now, his tongue thrusting deeply into her mouth as his arms tightened possessively, crushing her body against his. Clinging to him, as much for support as because she wanted to touch him, Hermione kissed him back as fiercely as she could, finally absolutely sure that this was what she wanted.

When they broke apart to catch their breath, Severus stared down at her with burning eyes and said raggedly, "I'm giving you one chance to say no, Hermione, because after that I can't guarantee that I'll be able to stop."

"Don't talk rubbish," she gasped breathlessly. "Of course you'd stop if I said no. But I'm not going to. I don't want you to stop. I've wanted you for a long time now, Severus."

He almost growled and pulled her to him once more, kissing her hungrily. It was almost impossible to think, but although she didn't have any real expectations about her first time she did know that she didn't want it to be on the kitchen floor, and fought her way through the fog of lust threatening to utterly destroy her reason to pull away from him again. Breathing hard, she smiled at him and reached to take his hand, feeling a very strange blend of confidence and nerves as she turned and led him out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

Neither of them spoke again until they were actually in the bedroom, when she let go of his hand and turned to look at him once more. Now they were here, she admitted to herself that she was terrified, simply because she hated facing the unknown. She wasn't too worried about the act itself; she knew the mechanics of it, she trusted him to know what he was doing, and given that he could set her blood on fire with just a kiss she was sure she would enjoy it, but she didn't want to disappoint him.

It didn't look like Severus was worried about that. His eyes were filled with black fire as he stared at her, heated and intense, and since he wasn't wearing his usual robes she could see clearly just how aroused he was. Taking a step closer, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him, more gently this time, brushing her hair back from her face as he bent his head to kiss her again; closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the moment, to the taste and feel of him, and tried to stop thinking so hard.

Turning, he backed towards the bed without breaking the kiss, wavering when it hit the back of his knees before lowering himself to sit on the edge of the mattress and pulling her down to sit in his lap. No longer having to worry about her legs giving way, she snaked her arms around his neck and wound her fingers into his hair, vaguely surprised to hear herself moaning into his mouth as his tongue slid against hers. His hands stroked down her back to her arse, pulling her more tightly against his erection, and she felt an answering pulse of heat between her legs at the feel of him pressing against her through their clothes.

Breaking the kiss, he pulled back to look at her for a moment, breathing raggedly. He cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking along her lower lip, his eyes softening slightly behind the burning excitement that filled his gaze, before he slid his fingers into her hair and gently tilted her head back, leaning in to kiss her neck. His breath was hot against her skin as he nuzzled at her throat, nipping at certain spots under her jaw and over her pulse, each tiny bite making her shiver with little sparks of pleasure.

"People always said you were a vampire," Hermione said breathlessly, because it was that or moan again and she was a little embarrassed by some of the noises she was making. He laughed in genuine amusement, his eyes dancing as he pulled back to look at her, but instead of answering he simply kissed her again, his hands worming their way under her top; his fingers felt hot on her skin, leaving trails of fire along her back and sides as he started slowly pushing her top up, in contrast to the seeming coolness of the air on the exposed skin.

The faint thrill of nervousness helped cut through the desire a little, not enough to make her want him any less, but enough to help her think straight. Returning his kiss, hearing his breath hitch for a moment as she caught his lower lip gently between her teeth, she reached down blindly and tugged his shirt out of his trousers before starting to undo the buttons, needing to feel his skin against hers.

She had to stop for a moment to let Severus pull her top up and over her head, shivering as the air washed across her now overheated skin, freezing in momentary uncertainty as she looked apprehensively at his face, but the look in his eyes destroyed the last vestiges of self-consciousness long before his gaze made it back to hers once more. He had to swallow before he could speak, his voice slightly huskier now, but it didn't hide the teasing note in his voice as he asked lightly, "Are you going to tell me to stop staring now?"

Laughing, she shook her head. "No. Now you're allowed."

"Very generous of you," he growled, dipping his head. His breath tickled across her skin as he kissed her collarbone. "But I intend to do a lot more than just stare." He licked the hollow at the base of her throat before his lips brushed across the end of the scar on her chest; if it was anyone else she would have been very embarrassed at that point, she hated the scar, but he was the one who had healed it in the first place and if she didn't mind any of his scars he clearly didn't mind hers. Besides, she was more interested in undoing the last few buttons of his shirt before finally being able to push it off his shoulders and watch him impatiently struggle out of it.

By now she had seen him shirtless countless times, had even touched him once or twice – most recently when it seemed like every inch of skin was soaked in blood, and he was cold and barely breathing – but not like this. Now he was hers, and there was a wonderful possessiveness in touching him, as her hands skated across his still too prominent ribs and rather tentatively into the sparse black curly hair on his chest, exploring the wiry strength of his narrow shoulders and roaming down his scarred back before he pulled her closer, both of them drawing in sharp breaths at the first shock of skin to skin contact.

It was absolutely impossible to think under these circumstances. Hermione didn't even realise that he had undone her bra until he started drawing the straps down her shoulders, and even as she sat back to give him enough room to take it off she was struck by painful nervousness as reality returned and she once again felt like a seventeen year old schoolgirl, half naked for the first time with a man and suddenly very unsure of herself once more. The fact that it was her former teacher whose lap she was straddling at the moment was making it worse, if anything.

Severus wasn't looking at her face, so it took him a few moments to notice, and a few moments longer before comprehension cut through the burning lust in his eyes, but slowly his expression cleared as he regained some sort of control over himself. Licking his lips, he cleared his throat, before smiling gently at her, his eyes softening as he reached to touch her face. "Oh, Hermione," he said softly. "You still have absolutely no idea what you look like, do you?"

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her against his chest in an embrace that was more comforting than sexual, nuzzling at her neck, his breath warm on her ear. "I don't know what anyone else would say," he murmured, "but right now, it's my opinion that counts, and I think you are very beautiful." He nibbled on her earlobe, sending shivers racing down her spine. "I also think that I am far, far luckier than I deserve. And that I want you so much it hurts. And that you have truly terrible taste in men," he added with a hint of humour in his voice.

She tried to argue with him about that last point, but as soon as she opened her mouth he was kissing her again and she rapidly found that she didn't have the breath to argue. A moment later she didn't have enough brain cells to argue, either, because his hands were cupping her breasts gently and the shock of his touch dissolved what scraps of reason she'd had left. And when his thumbs brushed across her hardened nipples for the first time, all she could do was whimper and squirm against him as her whole body reacted.

Hermione was starting to appreciate why everyone made such a big deal about sex now; neither of them were even fully undressed yet and this felt far better than anything she had ever managed to achieve on her own. She just wished she had had the courage to approach him earlier. Then that thought dissolved along with the rest, as his arms supported her at the small of her back and she leaned back automatically and he brought his mouth to her breasts, his hair brushing her skin and his breath raising goose bumps before he kissed her nipple and flicked his tongue across it. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she urged him on wordlessly and whimpered again, and she felt the faintest pressure of his teeth before he closed his lips around the hardened peak and started to suck.

She was pretty sure there was no nerve directly connecting her nipples to her groin, but that was what it felt like, a current of electricity going straight to the pulse between her legs and making her cry out and squirm in his lap, his erection digging into her almost but not quite where she wanted it. Almost in disbelief at just _how _good this felt, she stared down at the top of his head, as he moved to her other breast and continued to suckle, his hand coming up to the one he had just left and his fingers teasing the nipple.

When Severus finally lifted his head, he looked almost drunk, his dark eyes hazy and not quite focused but blazing with a need that matched her own. Almost desperate now, she squirmed against him again, shifting her weight as she tried to find the right angle to get some friction where she needed it, and his eyes went a little further out of focus before he laughed breathlessly, digging his fingers into her hips. "God, stop that," he gasped, shivering. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

"Serves you right," she retorted, equally breathless, drawing another shaky laugh from him before he kissed her again, eager and hungry and completely uncontrolled now. They were going to have to move if this was to go any further, but she didn't want to lose contact with him, even briefly. Finally he twisted to one side and she slid out of his lap onto the bed beside him, both of them trying to catch their breath as they pulled off shoes and socks before he pushed her back and stretched out beside her on the narrow bed to kiss her again, her breasts crushed against his chest and his erection pressing into her thigh.

Tangling a hand in his hair to keep his mouth on hers, feeling it still damp at the roots from his earlier shower, she closed her eyes and kissed him deeply, letting her other hand roam blindly down his chest and stomach until she could touch him through his trousers and feel the heat radiating from him. Boldly she wrapped her hand around him, as much as she could through his clothes, squeezing experimentally, and he groaned into her mouth and pushed his hips against her hand, making soft noises of pleasure.

It proved to be very difficult to undo his belt and buttons with only one hand when she couldn't see what she was doing, especially since they were still kissing a little frantically, but she managed to get his trousers more than half undone before registering that he seemed to be doing rather better with _her _jeans. Hermione promptly stopped what she was doing and arched her body off the bed to try and help him, reaching down to push them over her hips before kicking them away. She didn't feel self-conscious now, the ache between her legs put paid to such silly feelings; about all that she was certain of right now was that if he didn't touch her there soon she was going to lose her mind.

His hand slid up her thigh, tantalisingly slowly; she thought he was teasing her deliberately, but when she looked at him and attempted to find enough breath to tell him off she was no longer sure. His eyes were closed, and from the expression on his face he was teasing himself as much as her, taking his time and savouring every moment as he slowed the pace. When his fingers finally brushed between her legs, stroking through her knickers, and they both became aware of just how aroused she was, his mouth opened slightly and he made a low sound in the back of his throat, opening his eyes to stare at her as her whole body quivered under his touch.

After a long, breathless moment, his expression cleared and he smiled slowly, his eyes beginning to glitter in a way that said he had thought of something. Hermione didn't really feel capable of doing anything at the moment except lying back and waiting to find out what it was; it was all she could do to keep breathing, trembling with desperate anticipation as he sat up and hooked his fingers under the waistband of her knickers, slowly working them down, scratching lightly at her hips and thighs as he did so until she lay naked under his hungry stare.

For a long moment he stayed motionless, only his eyes moving; she could almost feel the weight of his gaze as he slowly scanned her body, absorbing the sight. She saw him swallow, his chest rising and falling a little more rapidly, and he unconsciously licked his lips. When his eyes met hers, the raw heat and need she saw in the black depths made her heart skip a beat, before he slid off the bed completely and knelt on the floor, leaning over her. It took her a moment to realise what he was about to do; all Hermione's knowledge of sex up to this point was in the abstract and from what she'd overheard from various sources – most of them admittedly probably not much more knowledgeable than she was – most men didn't like performing oral sex, and the few who could be persuaded to make the effort weren't very good.

Apparently, Severus wasn't like most men. His breath tickled her skin, his long hair brushing her thighs as his hands gently eased her legs apart; he kissed the inside of her thigh and bit softly, whispering something too quietly for her to hear before leaning closer, and a moment later she cried out as she felt his tongue slowly licking her.

Had her life depended on it, she couldn't have said specifically what he was doing; the sensations jumped and blurred together as he kissed and licked and sucked and teased and kept pushing her higher and higher. The world spiralled down to the slowly building tension and pressure as she drew closer and closer to the edge, whimpering and shaking. Just at the point where it all became too intense to bear, he slid a careful finger inside her and his mouth found just the right place and everything broke; ecstatic pleasure roared through her and she all but screamed his name, clenching her fists around handfuls of the bedclothes and bucking her hips.

When she could see clearly again, Severus was just getting to his feet, half-smiling and half-smirking as he watched her recovering from what had been the most intense orgasm of her life, far beyond her few fumbling solo efforts. His mouth was glistening, and when he saw her looking at him he slowly and deliberately licked his lips, sending another shiver through her. Managing to drag herself into a sitting position, she wordlessly beckoned him closer, and his eyes softened as he moved to rest a knee on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and allowing her to pull him down into a kiss. She could taste herself in his mouth, something sweet and musky that was nothing like she had expected. Drawing away, she smiled shakily at him, unable to think of anything to say and hoping that he understood what she was feeling at the moment, because she wasn't sure that she did.

He stood up again, returning her smile, and she slowly looked him up and down. His trousers were still half-undone, his erection still straining at the fabric, but if it was uncomfortable he didn't show it. Nobody could really call Severus attractive; he was still too thin, his ribs visible, but there was muscle throughout his frame as well, lean wiry tough muscle that had been earned throughout a harsh life rather than created in a gym or on a sports field, and it was somehow enhanced by his scars. No, he wasn't attractive, but she didn't care; he was what she wanted.

By the time her eyes made it back to his face, his smile had turned decidedly predatory, hunger sparking in his gaze once more, and just that look in his eyes was enough to renew the aching between her legs and stir her own need again despite how hard he had just made her come. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, she reached out to rest her hands briefly on his hips before slowly continuing to unfasten his trousers, easing them down until he could step out of them. With only the thin fabric of his shorts left, she could see the full outline of his erection more clearly, and something tightened low in her body; she had nothing to compare him to, admittedly, but she had a feeling he had more to offer than the average wizard.

Severus stepped back a pace, watching her intently as he reached down and slid his fingers under the waistband of his underwear, finally shedding the last of his clothing and letting her see him for the first time. Her mouth went dry as she tried not to stare too obviously, caught somewhere between nervousness and lust before lust won. Looking up at him, she scooted back on the narrow bed to give him some space and he came to sit beside her, leaning in to kiss her again; he was trying to be gentle, but she could feel him trembling and sensed that his self-control was growing thin. Twining her arms around his neck, she kissed him in return and lay back, drawing him down with her; he made a low sound in the back of his throat as their naked bodies pressed together, his arms tightening before he broke the kiss, breathing raggedly.

Holding his gaze, she rested her hand on his chest and slowly trailed her fingers downwards over his stomach and the curve of his hip bone, hesitating for a moment before touching him gently; his eyes closed and he let out the breath he had been holding in a long sigh as she did so. The unbelievable softness of the silky skin was something of a surprise, as was the way he twitched under her fingers when she touched him, and she explored his heat and hardness curiously, drawing shivers and gasps from him. Reaching between his thighs, she cradled the warm weight of him experimentally in her palm before she wrapped her hand around his shaft properly and he moaned, his head falling back.

"God, Hermione, please, stop," he said shakily.

"I'm sorry..."

"No, no, don't be." Catching her hand as she let go of him, he brought it to his lips, kissing her fingertips and smiling at her. "You weren't doing anything wrong, quite the opposite in fact, but it's been a very long time for me, and if you keep touching me like that I'm not going to last," he explained a little breathlessly. His eyes darkened as he looked at her, his voice deepening to almost a growl. "And I'm not done with you yet," he promised huskily, pushing himself up on one elbow and leaning in to kiss her again.

Very happy with that idea, she returned his kiss eagerly as he moved over her, revelling in the weight and strength of his body as he gently pushed her back against the pillows. Shifting under him, she ran her hands down his back as she spread her legs and he settled between her thighs without breaking the kiss, moaning softly into his mouth when she felt the head of his erection pressing so intimately against her. Bracing himself on one arm as the kiss came to an end, he reached down between their bodies, his fingers sliding teasingly through her damp curls before he shifted and began to carefully guide himself inside her, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

Settling his weight on both arms again, his eyes met hers as he slowly pushed deeper, trembling with the effort of holding back. Hermione was about to tell him that she wouldn't break when she felt the first twinge and was suddenly glad that he was being so careful; she must have tensed, because he stopped moving instantly, his hand smoothing her hair back from her face as he leaned down to kiss her once more, slow and deep and thorough. He continued kissing her, making no attempt to move, and she relaxed slowly, focusing on the taste and feel of his mouth for an unidentifiable length of time, before without warning he suddenly jerked his hips and thrust hard.

She gasped sharply, stiffening under him, but it was done now; for a few moments the pain was intense, but it began to fade almost immediately, as Severus hunched his shoulders a little and leaned down further to nuzzle at her neck, kissing her throat gently. Relaxing, she concentrated for a moment; no, it hadn't hurt as much as she had expected. He started to move again, shallow rocking movements of his hips, slowly working his way deeper, and by the time he was fully inside her, the discomfort was almost gone. It felt strange, admittedly, an odd sort of pressure that wasn't quite uncomfortable, but it didn't really hurt very much now.

He kissed her again, gently. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, releasing the breath he had been holding.

Relaxing a little more, she smiled up at him; with the pain gone, she could _feel _him buried deeply inside her, feel her body pulsing around him. The sense of connection was wonderful. "Oh, yes," she breathed.

Even so, for a few moments longer he stayed still, searching her gaze until finally she half-laughed and reached up to touch his face. "Severus. I'm okay. Really. You're not going to hurt me." More than that, if he didn't start moving soon, _she _might hurt _him. _Experimentally she tilted her hips a little, tightening her pelvic floor muscles, and watched his eyes go out of focus as he groaned softly. Filing that away for future reference, she gave him an innocent look and he smiled at her before slowly starting to pull away; she felt one last twinge, but it wasn't really pain now, and when he began to push into her once more there was nothing but pleasure even though it still felt a little strange.

Briefly a thought flittered across her awareness, rather later than it should have done. "I'm not... on anything," she told him, her breath hitching for a moment as he moved. She had never taken birth control, Muggle or otherwise, and the chances of her remembering how to cast a contraceptive charm right now were less than zero.

"I'm safe," he assured her hoarsely. "I have been for years." Taking his word for it, she relaxed again; one less thing to worry about.

Gradually his movements were becoming less slow and gentle, his breathing growing heavier, and she could feel the tension building again as she drew close once more. Moving under him, learning how to match the rhythm of his body, she cried out softly as he touched something inside her that sent a jolt of electricity through her; something flared in his eyes in response and he shifted, moving with more certainty. He found the angle he needed, and her eyes widened as she felt him sliding over the spot he had brushed before; every thrust pushed that coiling pressure a little higher, her body tightening. "Oh, God," she whispered hoarsely, shaking, arching her back and straining against him. "Severus..."

He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl in response, breathing hard now, and thrust again, his eyes burning as he stared down at her. His black eyes were difficult to read if you didn't know him, but she could see just how expressive they were, so much raw emotion in his gaze that it made her catch her breath. Then he pushed into her once more, and for a moment she was teetering right on the brink before something snapped and she cried out, digging her nails into his shoulders as her hips bucked, throwing her head back as fire blazed through her and the world dissolved into nothing.

Severus slowed down through her climax, prolonging the pleasure with easy rocking movements that drew out every last little shiver of sensation. Leaning down, he kissed her gently, before pushing himself up on his arms and really starting to move in earnest, putting more force behind his thrusts as he drove into her. As the last vestiges of her orgasm subsided, she relaxed, shivering in the aftermath and watching him reaching the peak of his own pleasure at last; he cried out wordlessly in a strangled voice, his expression twisting as he shoved himself into her one last time before dropping to his elbows and shuddering violently, and she felt the surging heat of his climax inside her.

Utterly exhausted, she raised her head enough to kiss his sweaty neck before sinking back against the pillows, shivering. His forehead rested against the pillows by her shoulder before he very slowly lifted his head, his eyes hazy and tired, and his gaze searched hers briefly. She managed to smile and saw his answering smile in his eyes before he slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows and knees again, rolling off her and into the wall with a soft groan.

It took a bit of drowsy squirming on the narrow bed, but finally they were settled side by side and snuggled down under the blankets. Nestled against his chest, Hermione listened to his heartbeat slowing to its usual steady rhythm and relaxed. She wasn't thinking about the war, or the uncertain future, or worrying about her parents, or anything else, just the fact that she was in Severus' arms; it was the happiest she had ever been.

He nuzzled closer with a sleepy sound in the back of his throat, burying his face in her hair, and relaxed with a contented sigh. Things weren't quite settled between them, there had been no overt declaration of feeling on either side, but Hermione was quite happy to not be a Gryffindor for once. In his own way, Severus had made his position quite clear, and she was certain he understood what she hadn't said. Everything could wait until the morning; right now she was happy, and _satisfied, _and very, very tired – sentiments that it seemed Severus shared, since by the sound of his breathing he was almost asleep already. Cuddling closer, she closed her eyes and let herself drift.

* * *

><p>When Severus woke up, he was utterly disorientated, and for a moment his sleep-hazed mind couldn't work out where he was or what was going on. It was dark outside his closed eyelids, and after a moment he recognised the all too familiar feel of the sagging mattress under him and the roughness of the wall against his back. Spinners End. But... another moment of sleepy confusion, before his brain finally woke up and presented him with a startlingly intense flashback of the previous few hours as he became aware of the smell of sex in the air. <em>Hermione. <em>He woke up properly, opening his eyes to the very strange sensation of someone else cuddled up against him, blinking slowly as his mind slowly caught up and sorted himself out.

Once he was reasonably sure what day it was and who he was, he took stock. He never seemed to feel warm here, but it was the height of summer now and even this damp house wasn't cold; besides, with two of them snuggled in bed like this, even he felt comfortably warm. Hermione was very deeply asleep, as far as he could tell, half lying on him with the loose heaviness of total relaxation, her insane hair fanned out across his chest, and he could hear her slow and even breathing.

He still couldn't quite believe it had happened; even though he had known she wanted him, something in his brain hadn't let him think that this was possible. For her to have given herself to him the way she had was... he didn't even have the words to describe what it meant to him. It had been so completely outside his experience that he couldn't think about it clearly yet. Severus had never known anything like last night – he'd had sex before, known other women, but he'd never been with a virgin and he'd never been with anyone who actually wanted _him. _Nobody who knew who he was and what he was had ever wanted to touch him with a twenty foot pole, let alone...

It was too much to think about now; he hadn't had anywhere near enough sleep for his brain to cope with anything beyond physical sensations at the moment. On a purely physical level, he felt... utterly exhausted, actually, he reflected, his lips curving into a slight smile as he allowed himself to enjoy the lingering ache radiating from his groin throughout his body. He concentrated on the warmth of her body, surprised at how peculiarly natural it felt; this was more physical contact than he had ever shared with anyone. It was pointless cuddling up to a woman you knew would kick you out in the morning as soon as she realised what she'd done, and he'd never wanted that degree of intimacy with any of them anyway. Hermione was different, but it was still a surprise to find that he seemed to be adjusting so well.

_Shut up, _he scolded himself sleepily, closing his eyes and tightening his arm around the young woman snuggled up against him. For once, he was going to let himself enjoy something good in his life, and stop picking at it until he ruined it. He'd never been so happy in his life, and it was about time he stopped being his own worst enemy and just let it happen. Besides, he was too tired to do anything except go back to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Well? This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but I trust it was worth waiting for. Also, a belated happy birthday to <strong>Ukirra<strong>, since I forgot to say so last update._

_And some fan art from **Lilandriel: **_lilandrial dot deviantart dot com /art/A-surprise-Patronus-282884296


	39. Chapter 39

_Why does everyone want the boys to walk in on them? I mean, what would happen? Severus would kill them both, and then possibly himself, while Hermione expired from sheer embarrassment. Nobody gets to the Horcruxes, Voldy wins and the world ends. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? IS IT? Ahem._

* * *

><p><strong>"Night shadows falling<br>I hear you calling  
>We're finally talking<br>Your words touch my soul  
>It's taken a long time<br>To get inside your mind  
>I know it's not easy<br>But babe we're two of a kind  
>Oh, little by little<br>I'm getting close to your heart  
>When we're together<br>Looks like we're making a start..."**  
>– Laura &amp; The Lovers, 'Little By Little'.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up in daylight; neither of them had remembered to close the curtains yesterday. It looked to be about mid-morning from the light, but she still felt very tired. Severus was a warm weight pressed against her back, since apparently she had managed to roll over in the night without falling out of bed, spooned up against her with his face buried in her hair and his arm wrapped around her. He was also snoring, she realised with a smile – very quietly and rhythmically, far less obnoxiously than her father, the boys, or Lavender, who were the only other people she knew who she had witnessed snoring; this was no more intrusive than Crookshanks' purring, although slightly less soft.<p>

Stifling a yawn, she took stock. Aside from being tired, she felt pretty wonderful, all things considered; she had expected to be at least a bit sore, but all she felt was a faint pleasant sort of ache. She also felt rather sticky and in desperate need of the loo, a shower and some toothpaste, but since all of those things would involve getting up, she decided they could wait. She didn't want to wake Severus, and in any case she would be very happy to never move from this spot ever again.

As though he had sensed her thinking about him, he shifted slightly, snuggling closer against her and sighing before his snoring resumed, and she smiled again. _That's just cute. I wonder if he knows he's this adorable when he's asleep? _A moment later her smile widened; when he had pressed closer against her she had become aware of his body properly, and he was evidently in a very good mood this morning. She knew vaguely that young men tended to wake up with erections, but she wasn't sure when they were supposed to grow out of that – not that 'supposed to' was likely to apply to Severus anyway.

Lovely though this was, she really did need the loo, and settled to carefully easing her way out of his arms while trying not to disturb him. It didn't work; almost the instant she moved he stopped snoring and the arm around her waist tightened as his body tensed slightly. After a moment he relaxed and mumbled something that might have been her name in a faintly questioning tone, and she grinned, pleased that he couldn't see her face at the moment – he really was cute when he was half asleep, she'd known that since fifth year. "Nature calls," she explained softly. "Let me up?"

He made a sleepy sound of complaint, but withdrew his arm so she could slide out of bed, and she glanced back in time to see him burrowing deeper under the blankets. Smiling fondly, she debated about clothes and decided not to bother just yet, rather self-consciously padding naked across the landing into the bathroom.

Part of her had half-expected something to have changed, as she analysed her reflection; it seemed as if there should be some visible sign of what had happened, which was actually a bit daft. Shaking her head at her own folly, she relieved herself and set about quickly cleaning up. There was a little smear of dried blood on the inside of her thigh, she noted with some surprise; it hadn't hurt enough for her to expect any bleeding. She had expected the rest of the mess, though, and took a few minutes to clean up properly and to brush her teeth before concluding there was absolutely nothing to be done with her hair and going back to the bedroom.

Severus had returned to the world of the living, it seemed, since although he didn't appear to have moved the window had been opened to air the room out a bit and the state of the bed had been improved by a cleaning charm or two. When she came back in he pushed the bedding away from his face and cracked open one eye. "Don't shut the door," he mumbled sleepily, yawning. "I need to get up too." Despite this, he made no attempt to actually move, except to lift his head a bit, watching her with lazily glittering eyes; his expression made her smile and stopped her feeling quite so awkward about standing around naked.

Once he had finally hauled himself out of bed, she burrowed into the warm spot he had left, idly watching his arse as he left the room; there might be nail marks on his shoulders, but it was hard to tell with all the scars. She hoped not. Inhaling his scent mingled with musk, she wondered with a faint shiver of unease what was going to happen now; she really didn't want any morning-after awkwardness to spoil her memories of last night, but it was impossible to predict how things were going to progress...

Her worrying was interrupted by the return of Severus himself, clean shaven and looking marginally more awake. If he felt at all self-conscious – which he almost certainly did, actually – it didn't show, although there was a hint of something a little less sure behind the lazy glitter in his gaze, and she let herself stare openly as he closed the door and turned back towards the bed, enjoying watching him. His body was all wiry strength, lean sharp angles and clean hard lines with no hint of softness anywhere, drawing her eyes down the length of his torso to his impressive erection before she made herself look back up towards his face.

He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest, openly smirking at her, and as she watched he raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying the view?" he asked. She remembered him saying the same thing during that long-ago Healing lesson in a tone of badly-suppressed shame-fuelled anger, but now he was relaxed and smiling, some of the lines of his face softened, drawing attention to the fact that the unhealthy sallow cast to his pale skin had vanished almost completely, and his voice was almost a purr.

"Yes, actually," she told him boldly, pleased with the flash of heat in his black eyes in response. Smiling daringly at him, she scooted back and tugged the blankets aside, and grinned when he lazily sauntered across the room, unmistakeably showing off. "Get in here already."

So much for morning-after awkwardness, she reflected as he slid back into bed and snaked an arm around her waist to pull her closer; it seemed that Severus was perfectly happy to have her in his bed and didn't have any regrets about last night, and in fact seemed quite keen to repeat the experience. Nestling closer against him, she lifted her face for his kiss, discovering that he had cleaned his teeth as well; it took a few pleasant minutes of kissing to get past the toothpaste and let them taste one another once more.

This time felt much less awkward; she felt under far less pressure, more confident now that she knew what to expect, able to be a little more daring as she twined her arms around his neck and lifted her leg to wrap around his waist. That drew a pleased sound from him as he occupied himself with nibbling at the cords of her neck, his hands wandering across her skin as he sought the sensitive places he had discovered yesterday.

Stroking the curve of her hip and thigh, he nuzzled at her throat. "How are you feeling, this morning?"

She tangled her fingers in his hair. "Happy. But if you mean am I sore, no, not really. So if you stop what you're doing, I might stop being happy."

He made another pleased sound and started moving lower, kissing her breasts as his fingers began trailing up the inside of her thigh. "Duly noted," he murmured, before taking one of her nipples into his mouth and making her almost purr in pleasure as his fingers circled and stroked and teased. By the time he slid first one finger and then another inside her she was almost whimpering, part of her amazed at the strength of her need; she had never realised it would be like this.

Finally Severus drew away and shifted to hold himself just above her, and she reached up to push his now wildly tangled hair back from his face, arching her back. He wasn't smiling, but his dark eyes were soft, warm and unguarded and almost wondering as he lowered his body on top of hers and kissed her gently; closing her eyes, she sighed into his mouth and lifted her hips to meet him as he entered her at last, feeling her body adjusting to him more easily this time.

As they moved together, Hermione looked up at him with a certain sense of wonder; this still didn't seem entirely real. For so long this man had just been Professor Snape, the nasty teacher she had never been able to impress, the one nobody had ever been completely sure about, the one even the other teachers were a little wary of, the one all the students were terrified of even though he had never actually done anything to harm any of them. And yet, now, here she was beneath him in his bed as he made love to her the morning after taking her virginity; for a moment the sheer surreal absurdity almost made her want to laugh, even as she moaned softly in pleasure.

Yet perhaps it wasn't so strange, she reflected, sliding her hands down his scarred back to his buttocks and trying to pull him into her more deeply. She had started to realise the truth about him at the end of the first year, when Harry told her that actually Severus had been trying to save him at the Quidditch match – it was obvious that Severus utterly despised Harry, but when it counted he hadn't let those personal feelings stop him from trying to do what was right.

It was at the end of the third year that she had started to understand the truth of that. She still remembered that night, when the three of them had found themselves suddenly face to face with a werewolf, a monster straight out of nightmares. Severus hadn't hesitated for even a fraction of a second before moving to place himself between them and the threat, and outwardly he had seemed confident and powerful and still filled with wild anger and hate. But she had been closer than either Harry or Ron – who had probably cowered back to avoid touching him, in hindsight – and she had been pressed against his back; she hadn't noticed at the time, but afterwards she remembered feeling him shaking. On reading his records in fifth year she had finally understood just how terrified he must have been, but it hadn't stopped him.

And she had seen the real truth of what the war cost him, of the price he paid personally to keep them all alive and relatively safe, and now she knew why he had done it. This was the real Severus, behind the bitter, brittle shell he had built up around himself; he was a man, no worse than any other, burdened by more pain than most, fuelled by his sense of honour and loyalty as much as by anger and darkness. And on a less important level, he also happened to be very intelligent, had a wonderful sense of humour, and was surprisingly caring in an understated way. As well as having the sexiest voice she had ever heard, nice eyes and clever fingers, and being very good in bed.

All in all, Hermione decided, biting gently at his shoulder as she drew close to the edge of orgasm, perhaps it wasn't a surprise at all that she had fallen in love with him. Gasping and shivering in pleasure, she let her head fall back to the pillows, arching her back and digging her fingers into his shoulders before crying out as blissful ecstasy rolled through her once more; right now, the world seemed a very lovely place, as Severus thrust into her one more time and moaned his completion against her neck, shuddering and climaxing with her.

Regaining her breath in the aftermath as she snuggled against him, she smiled against his chest and relaxed, her nerves still humming with the last happy little aftershocks. She was pretty sure that sex wasn't usually always quite this incredible, but she certainly wasn't about to question her good fortune. "I don't suppose you could tell me that we could just stay right here for the next, oh, hundred years or so?"

"I thought you didn't want me to lie to you," he replied lazily, twining his fingers through her hair. "We do have a few small, trifling little details to take care of. Saving the world, that sort of thing." She laughed softly, and he continued, "Besides, one of my first acts once the war is done for good will be to burn this house to the ground. Whatever lies in my future – or our future – this house isn't going to be part of it."

"Oh?"

"If I hadn't thought – correctly, as it turns out – that I would need the blood wards in the next war, I would have destroyed it long ago. I'd settle for just selling it, but nobody would want it."

"Mm," she replied noncommittally. "I've never really cared about houses anyway. And I suppose no house is going to measure up to Hogwarts, is it?"

"True." He stretched lazily, pulling his body into one long line, and held it for a moment before relaxing bonelessly with a contented sigh. "I suppose it is quite tempting to stay put, though. Those blood wards are rather extensive. We could just tell Dumbledore to get on with it and leave them to kill each other."

Smiling, she nestled closer into the circle of his arms. "I think he's probably cross enough with you already."

"Also true," he conceded. "I can't even begin to express my pain at that thought."

Hermione stifled a giggle. "Sorry, Severus, but you can't do sarcasm properly when you're in a good mood. It sounds wrong."

"It's just as well that it doesn't happen often, then, isn't it," he replied dryly, shifting slightly more onto his side and resting his cheek against her hair. "Although it might be a slightly more frequent occurrence from now on."

Closing her eyes, she listened to the faint steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear, every slow breath thick with the heavy musky scent of sex. She was physically tired enough that she could have gone back to sleep quite happily, but her brain was still working, even as she stifled a yawn. "Severus?"

"Yes?" he responded lazily. Despite the slow decadent sleepiness of his voice, he had tensed slightly, and was probably anticipating something dreadful; ignoring that, Hermione concentrated on not blushing, a little embarrassed by what she was about to ask.

"Is it... always like that?" she asked finally, keeping her face half-hidden against his chest and feeling stupid for asking, trying not to blush.

After a moment she felt him relax, and he exhaled. "Not... in my experience," he replied slowly, before a hint of wry humour entered his voice. "Which is not particularly extensive, I admit, and usually involved a fair amount of alcohol. On both sides." He shifted and said more seriously, "I haven't known anything like this before."

That was certainly nice to hear, although she was sure he would never have said it if she'd been able to see his face. Smiling a little despite feeling awkward, she nestled closer, nuzzling at his skin. "Then how... I mean, I know I can't have been... well, much good..."

"What?" Severus sounded honestly confused, shifting a little to try and see her face, gently brushing some of her now hopelessly tangled hair out of the way. "Hermione, are you seriously asking me if I enjoyed myself?"

"I suppose so," she muttered, burying her face against his chest as her blush intensified. All things considered, she felt she was entitled to be a bit insecure. Whatever Severus said about his past experience, he was still two decades older than she was and had clearly had sex a hell of a lot more often than she had. He probably had higher standards than the average hormonal teenage boy.

He made an odd noise, starting to shake; it took her a moment to realise he was trying not to laugh. Angrily, she tried to roll away from him – not that the bed was big enough – and his arm tightened, holding her in place. "I'm sorry. It's just that... you have no idea what a bloody stupid question that is." He kissed the top of her head. "Believe me, I have absolutely no complaints. Why on earth were you even asking?"

She hesitated for a moment, but finally decided to let him reassure her; after all, he certainly hadn't been reluctant to repeat it this morning. Besides, she felt too good at the moment to want to ruin it. "Well..."

"Tell me."

Closing her eyes again, she told him softly, "Well, I didn't really know what to expect, but... it felt like it's described in all the romance novels. I always assumed that was – well, fiction. I didn't realise it could really be like that. I suppose I was just wondering how. It's not as if I knew what I was doing."

Severus made a pleased, vaguely thoughtful sound in his throat. "For a start, stop worrying. If either of us should be fretting, it should be me; I was terrified of hurting you."

She heard the unasked question in his voice and assured him hastily, "You didn't."

"Well, then." He stifled a yawn and nuzzled closer. "I don't know, Hermione. I'm really not an expert, you know. And right now, I am not inclined to question it. Last night was... unlike anything I have ever known, and this morning was equally incredible. I have no idea if it was anything physical or not, and at the moment I really don't care. Good enough?"

Trying not to laugh despite herself, she nodded gratefully against his chest. "Good enough." She wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but he was definitely more likely to know than she was, and besides, nothing seemed to matter very much right now, as she listened to his breathing and let her mind wander back to the previous night. Thinking back, he certainly hadn't been quite as sure of himself as he'd seemed at the time, but still...

Something occurred to her and she frowned slightly, absently biting her lower lip for a moment as she thought about it. There _was _one thing she did know about his sexual history, after all... "Severus?"

She felt the vibration of his laughter in his chest. "Do you ever stop asking questions?" he asked with a kind of affectionate exasperation in his voice.

"Sometimes," she muttered, trying for either dignity or irritation and completely unable to reach either. _Bastard, _she thought, with no sincerity whatsoever_. _She ran a finger along one of the scars on his chest. "This is important, though."

"Oh?"

Exhaling slowly, Hermione watched her fingers tracing the line of scar tissue. "Last night..."

"Yes?" he asked more softly, gently laying his hand over hers on his chest. "Hermione, what is it?"

"I don't really know how to ask," she admitted with a sigh, watching his fingers now, seeing all the tiny nicks and scars and calluses. "I didn't even think of it before now, but... what happened to you..."

She trailed off, having absolutely no idea how to finish the sentence, and he made a soft noise of understanding, as always seeming to guess what she was thinking. "Ah. You don't have to worry about... that." His fingers curled around hers, squeezing gently. "It's not easy to explain, but it's not an issue, not for me."

"But... you've been – abused, before."

"Yes," he agreed quietly, squeezing her hand again. He didn't sound bothered. "It doesn't affect this. I appreciate that you're worried about me, but I've never reacted the way I understand most victims do. What happened to me had nothing to do with sex. It was just another type of pain. It never meant much. I know Poppy doesn't understand it, and she and Dilys have been fretting for decades about how much I must be repressing the trauma, but I'm not, at least as far as I know." He stretched, slowly, and relaxed with a sigh, smoothing her hair back from her face; lifting her head, Hermione searched his gaze uncertainly.

"Does it bother you?" he asked quietly.

"No, of course not. I just – wasn't sure if you were all right..."

"You'd know if I wasn't; when something happens that I can't deal with, believe me, you'd know about it. But this doesn't touch any of my triggers. I know it's not normal, Hermione, don't look at me like that," Severus told her, brushing the back of his fingers down her cheek lightly. "I have no explanation. All I know is that it's never really bothered me. The first time did, somewhat, but it was a very long time ago." He exhaled, half closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry I said anything, now."

"Don't be." He offered her a small smile. "It's not the most cheerful subject in the world, but it is something we would have had to address eventually. At least you did already know – I have no idea how I would have told you otherwise." He looked thoughtful for a moment, before shrugging slightly. "I highly doubt Poppy ever discussed that aspect of my health – at least, I hope not – but I'm clean, too," he added gruffly.

"You'd have said something before if you weren't," she retorted; the possibility of catching anything from him hadn't even entered her mind. His attitude was certainly unexpected, but she was relieved that it didn't seem to be an issue. Propping herself up on her elbow, she reached out and touched his face gently, tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbone and his jaw, brushing his tangled hair back. He'd only washed it yesterday evening, but it already looked greasy again, she noted absently – given that her own hair probably rivalled Medusa's at this point, she wasn't going to worry too much. Noticing that his gaze had wandered somewhat, she smiled and slid her fingers under his chin. "My eyes are up here, you know."

Entirely unapologetic, he smirked at her, his eyes beginning to glitter again as his hand slipped beneath the tangled bedding and started to wander; evidently he had decided they'd had enough serious discussion for the moment. "I can hardly be blamed for being a little distracted," he drawled, his hand sliding lower as he leaned closer.

Failing to either bat his hand away or avoid his kiss – possibly because she had no incentive to do either – Hermione finally pulled back with a breathless laugh, shaking her head at him. "Already?" She didn't know how long the average recovery time was, of course, but...

Severus arched an eyebrow with a throaty, barely-audible chuckle. "You really do have a lot to learn," he purred, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her closer once more.

* * *

><p>The rest of the morning passed comfortably in a drowsy post-coital haze of cuddling, dozing, touching and talking about nothing much, as their private world of the last few hours slowly and reluctantly gave way to reality once more. Finally hauling themselves out of bed for a shower and a late lunch, they ventured downstairs and returned to work. When the Floo roared to life a short while later, they were in the kitchen; Severus was absorbed in scowling at the Daily Prophet and occasionally muttering to himself while Hermione listened to the Muggle news on the radio.<p>

Two very dishevelled figures staggered into the kitchen from the sitting room. Harry and Ron were both pale and shaky, messy-haired and rumpled and needing a shave, with dark circles under their eyes, and were both moving rather carefully.

Hermione regarded them in some amusement. "Good night, was it?"

They both flinched simultaneously; Ron closed his eyes and almost whimpered, as Harry whispered thickly, "Not so loud, please."

"How sweet," Severus drawled, glancing up from the newspaper with a mocking smile. "Their first hangovers."

"Oh, be nice," Hermione chided him softly. "It's not as if you've never been drunk before."

"By the time I was their age, I knew my limits," Severus replied dryly, reaching across the table and rather spitefully turning the radio up.

"It was Harry's birthday," Ron mumbled, wincing.

"No it wasn't," Hermione pointed out logically. "His birthday is the day after tomorrow."

"Oh, shut up. You could've come too, 'stead of staying here in this dump."

She exchanged a glance with Severus; his expression was blank, but his eyes were smiling, crinkling at the corners. Amused, she looked back at Ron. "I could have done, yes," she agreed calmly, "and maybe I'd look as bad as you two do right now. But I didn't. I stayed here in this dump, and had a perfectly nice time that hasn't left me looking like I slept in a gutter somewhere."

"With Snape," Harry said indistinctly.

"Be nice, Potter," Severus said dryly, his eyes gleaming with something of his old malice.

"Why?" he asked, shivering. "I'm dying anyway."

Rolling his eyes, Severus sat back and produced two small vials from his pocket. "Because if you aren't extremely nice to me, I won't let you have these."

Two pairs of bloodshot eyes squinted warily at the vials. "Is that..."

"Hangover relief, yes," he agreed calmly. "Go and throw up, and try not to make too much mess. Then drink some water, and then take these. You'll live."

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't quite sure what would happen that night, now the boys were back in the house, and there hadn't been much chance to discuss it, really. As the evening progressed into night she had slowly started to over-think and get more worked up, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house settling once the boys had gone to bed, and she had just managed to convince herself to give up and go to sleep when she heard almost-silent footsteps on the stairs and couldn't keep the smile from her face as the door opened and a shadow slipped in, his familiar voice murmuring a silencing spell as the door closed as quietly as it had opened.<p>

"What kept you?" she asked softly, and heard him laugh barely audibly as he padded across the room to sit on the edge of the bed and started to remove his clothing.

"I was waiting for those two to start snoring. Worried I wouldn't show up?" he asked archly, turning to glance at her before pulling his shirt over his head.

Reaching out to touch his back, she ignored the question as much as possible, relieved that he apparently didn't intend to return to being a gentleman now as she ran a finger down his spine between the scars and watched him shiver, stopping only when she touched the waistband of his jeans. "This is a good look for you. Is it how you normally dress when you're not at school?"

"Sometimes," he replied absently, leaning back slightly to undo his belt before standing to remove his jeans and underwear; by the tone of his voice he wasn't really paying much attention to the conversation now, which she could certainly empathise with since her own thoughts were beginning to wander as well. Trying not to fidget too obviously, she watched the shadows playing over his pale skin, lit only by the street lamp outside, before shifting back to give him space to slide into bed beside her.

Between kisses, she murmured, "I've not been able to concentrate on anything today. And it's entirely your fault, Severus."

"Not _entirely,_" he replied somewhat indistinctly against her skin, before putting a stop to all further attempts at speech with remarkable efficiency.

* * *

><p>Given the pleasant exhaustion that had pulled her into sleep earlier, Hermione was quite annoyed to be woken up only an hour or so later, until she registered what had woken her. Severus had been spooned against her back again when she had fallen asleep, moulding himself around her, but now his body felt oddly rigid and he was trembling badly enough for her to feel it, the arm around her waist tensing as his hand closed around a fistful of the sheet underneath them before he made a low sound in his throat.<p>

Still half asleep, it took her a moment to work out he seemed to be having a nightmare, and once she realised she wasn't sure what to do about it. People reacted differently, and the odds were quite high that Severus would be the type to respond to a sudden awakening from a bad dream rather violently. There wasn't enough space for her to roll over and look at him without waking him, and she bit her lip, listening to his unsteady breathing as his shaking grew worse.

He made another soft noise, oddly choked and strangled, and she closed her eyes for a moment at the little suppressed whimper – she was pretty sure that was the equivalent of a yell, from someone so well trained to keep all his emotions to himself that even in his nightmares he never let himself express what he was really feeling. It was a disturbingly childlike sound. Unsure of what else to do, she reached for the hand tangled in the sheets by her stomach, gently working one of her hands under his and breaking his grip before laying her other hand over his, linking her fingers through his and squeezing softly.

The next sound he made, what felt like an eternity later, was enough to make her eyes sting – she'd only heard anything like it once, on a TV advert for Childline. A very, very tightly suppressed sob, so stifled it was almost unrecognisable. How the hell had he learned to force everything down so strongly that he couldn't cry even in his dreams? Swallowing, she tightened her grip on his hand, twisting a little to try and look behind her. "Severus," she whispered, readying a non-verbal Shield Charm just in case he reacted as badly as she feared he might. "Severus, wake up."

He jerked awake with a gasp and a violent shudder, but luckily without lashing out either physically or magically, although he did sharply pull his hand away from hers. After a long moment of listening uneasily to his panting as she twisted further to try and see him, she heard him sigh shakily and felt him lie back down against her back. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's not your fault. What were you dreaming about?" she asked gently, almost afraid of his answer – her own nightmares were bad enough, and he had seen and endured things she couldn't even begin to imagine.

She felt him shake his head against her back. "Nothing I'm ready to talk about yet. Bad memories, that's all; it happens, in this house. I'm all right."

"I wish I could help..."

"You are helping," he said somewhat ambiguously and without further explanation, shifting closer and sliding his arm back around her waist, burying his face against the back of her neck.

"Can you actually breathe like that?" she asked despite herself; her hair could nearly suffocate_ her_ in her sleep, sometimes, and she wasn't the one burying her face in it.

He chuckled softly, nuzzling at her neck and relaxing once more. "Yes. I like your hair. Now go back to sleep; I'm sorry I woke you."

"Well, it was my turn, I suppose," she murmured, snuggling back against him.

* * *

><p>It took the boys until the following morning to notice the change in the house, when Hermione came out of the bathroom and found Harry waiting outside. He nodded sleepily to her and was about to walk past when he paused and took another look; rather than any form of nightwear, Hermione was wearing the shirt Severus had been wearing yesterday, since it had been the closest thing to hand when she had somewhat reluctantly rolled out of bed. "Hang on..."<p>

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What?" she asked innocently, biting her lip for a moment to keep a straight face – surely the boys must have suspected what was likely to have happened once they were both absent.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then very slowly turned to look at the half-open bedroom door – which pointedly slammed shut as he looked at it – before looking back at her with a somewhat confused expression. "Er."

"Yes, Harry. _Er_. I'll go and put the kettle on, shall I?" Trying very hard not to laugh, she went downstairs to make a start on breakfast. A still very confused-looking Harry joined her a few minutes later, with Ron in tow; true to form, the latter didn't notice anything wrong, or even the fact that she was only half-dressed, which meant he was still mostly asleep.

"Where's Snape this morning?" the redhead asked a few minutes later through a mouthful of cornflakes.

"Still in bed," Hermione replied nonchalantly as she sipped her tea; it took a moment, but Ron choked on his breakfast before turning a brilliant shade of beetroot that clashed horribly with his hair.

"You... he..."

Part of her dissolved into hysterics at the look on his face, but she was quite proud of how calm she outwardly was as she looked up at him. "Yes?"

"Er. Nothing." Ron looked at Harry for help; he shrugged helplessly, flushing almost as red, and both of them looked anywhere but at her.

Severus himself walked in on the awkward silence a moment later, looking a little sleep-rumpled but reasonably awake. Hermione blinked at him, slowly looking him up and down as she took in his changed appearance; he was wearing blue jeans today, better fitting than his black ones and apparently more comfortable, and a Beatles t-shirt. The shirt had been black, but was so faded it was closer to grey, a bit stretched out of shape, and the white print of the logo was cracked and peeling – it was obviously a favourite shirt that had been worn and washed so many times for so long that it was in real danger of disintegration. The scars were visible on both his arms, and his overall demeanour seemed more relaxed; he looked closer to his true age and more at home in his surroundings, less distant somehow.

He raised an eyebrow at the atmosphere in the kitchen and glanced at her. Hermione shrugged and rolled her eyes, making a mental note to have a discussion about the merits of the t-shirt and jeans look later – it definitely suited him, in a strange way – and he looked amused, his lips quirking into a wry half-smile.

"Coffee in the mug, and the kettle's just boiled," she told him.

"Thanks. Oh, grow up, the pair of you," he added scathingly as both boys glanced at him uncertainly and blushed. Ignoring them both with supreme unconcern that was almost certainly a total bluff, he made his coffee and came to sit next to Hermione. "Anything interesting in the paper?"

"The bounty on your head's gone up. You're still not quite as high as Harry though, and Ron and I are still the same. Still nothing on Umbridge. If she was going to break the memory charm she would have done it by now, so I think we're safe."

After breakfast Severus rather pointedly shut himself in the cellar again, and once she had dressed Hermione joined the boys in the living room. "Well?"

"Er. You and Snape."

"What about us? And so help me, Harry, if you start your next sentence with 'er' I'm going to slap you."

"You're... together?"

"Well spotted," she said briskly. "And?"

"Er..."

"Damnit, Harry."

"Sorry, sorry. I just..."

She gave him an exasperated look. "It does happen in relationships, Harry. Besides, it's his bedroom." Sighing, she leaned forward. "What's the problem? You've known how I feel about him for ages; longer than he has, in fact. And I told you when we kissed that first time, once we both knew it was mutual. What do you think we've been doing since?"

"Yeah, I know. It's just..." He hesitated and gave her an apologetic look. "Weird. I'm sorry, but it is. I mean... this is _Snape. _The first time you ever touched him, you set him on _fire._"

Despite herself, she grinned. "Yes." Until their weird Occlumency fight in fifth year she hadn't been sure if Severus actually knew who had done that, but not much escaped him and he certainly hadn't seemed surprised or, strangely, particularly angry. _Apparently I set him on fire last time I touched him, too, _she reflected, trying not to laugh_. Just not as literally. _"I know, Harry. I know it's weird. It took me a long time to get my head around the idea. You know that, I've talked to you about it before. But I've been sure about him for a long time now. So deal with it." She turned and gave Ron a stern look. "Do you have any further insights to add?"

He held up his hands. "Hey, don't start on me. I've said you were nuts from the start. You can do what you want with who you want – and you will, because nobody would ever dare try and stop you. As long as I don't have to see it, hear it or think about it, _ever, _I'm cool with it. I think." He paused, and then grinned in sudden mischief. "Does this mean Snape's not going to look for excuses to beat me up any more?"

Hermione snorted. "No. He still finds you immensely annoying. He's just not jealous of you any more." _Not that the silly man ever had a reason to be jealous in the first place. _She did love Ron still, but she could see it for what it was now; more than friends, perhaps, but not like that. There would never have been a future for them together; he was somewhere between a brother and a friend, nothing more.

"Can we at least tell him that he has to treat you nicely or else?"

"Or else what?" she asked. "What, exactly, did you plan to do to him? He's spent most of the last year proving that he can thrash the pair of you. Besides, if he doesn't treat me nicely, I'll deal with him myself, not that it's very likely. And he'll kill you for your presumption, I should think."

"So is this a forever kind of deal?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"We haven't talked about it in those terms yet. Let's get the war over with first and find out how long 'forever' is actually going to last. But I certainly don't plan on letting him go in a hurry, and I don't think he's going to go anywhere willingly either." Severus hadn't said anything about his feelings – nor had she, not yet – and she knew him well enough to know that he possibly never would, but he didn't have to. His actions had always meant far more than his words.

* * *

><p>Harry's real birthday proved to be something of an anticlimax. He had already had gifts from the Order, and since they had had to leave Hogwarts in such a hurry neither Hermione nor Ron had been able to give him their presents. Whatever the nature of the enchantment that had been on him until he turned seventeen, nothing dramatic happened when it broke, although as Severus pointed out, anyone trying to watch this house was going to stand out rather a lot and would also give up in total confusion after deciding there was no way a wizard would be hiding here.<p>

The long weeks of August dragged by. It was hot, humid and muggy, and too dangerous now for anyone except Severus to leave the house, and even then he did so only when it was absolutely necessary. There was little contact with the Order; word came towards the end of the month of a successful raid on Malfoy Manor and the rescue of a number of prisoners, including Griphook the goblin, Ollivander the wand-maker, and – to everyone's horror – Luna Lovegood. Why she had been taken wasn't explained, but Mrs Weasley assured them all that she and the others were going to be fine. They were all recovering at an Order safe house; the rescue had gone incredibly smoothly with no serious casualties, and with Griphook's liberation the negotiations with Gringotts should be easier, although Bill didn't have any updates for them yet.

Then again, Bill was possibly a little distracted. Originally, he and Fleur had been due to marry this month; after what had apparently been a lot of quite painful discussions and arguments, according to the twins' letter to Ron about it, they had reluctantly decided to postpone simply because it wasn't safe to have everyone present that they wanted to be there. The Burrow was no longer safe, according to Severus, and Shell Cottage wasn't large enough, and Grimmauld Place was for Order members only, which didn't include the more distant Weasleys or any of Fleur's relatives.

The days were spent killing time, more or less. Severus had abandoned the cellar for the time being and dragged what non-dangerous books he had in the house into the living room, cursing the fact that most of his library was at Hogwarts still, and he and Hermione were still searching for some means of killing Nagini from a distance in a way that would destroy the Horcrux inside her, but without some sort of major breakthrough it wasn't likely they would find anything. The boys were mock-duelling a lot of the time, burning energy off as much as seriously practicing their combat skills, and Harry was continuing to teach Ron about the Muggle world, but everyone's tempers were fraying as the time dragged past with painful slowness. There was nothing they could do at the moment until Gringotts stopped being stubborn.

Hermione's nights belonged to Severus and to the narrow bed they shared, either curling up in one another's arms despite the sticky heat of the summer nights or spending hours exploring one another's bodies, growing more confident as lovers. She sometimes thought it was the only thing keeping them both sane; if they had still been awkwardly dancing around one another the tension in the house would have killed all four of them by now.

Dumbledore was refusing to speak to any of them when they did contact Headquarters. Severus seemed annoyed but not much surprised by this, and was of the opinion that it was actually more because the Headmaster didn't actually have a plan than because he was really that angry with them, at least in public, especially if his health was deteriorating as seemed likely. Privately he had admitted to Hermione that he was certain that Dumbledore knew a lot more about the situation that he wasn't telling them, and he was a little worried about what that might be – but, again, there was nothing they could do except wait.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note: <strong>There's a new paragraph on my profile now just above the Completed Works section explaining that Severus and Hermione will not be having children in any of my stories. I have nothing against it, at all, but it doesn't work in my head with my personal versions of these two characters, so I personally can't write it. Sorry to disappoint those of you who were hoping otherwise._

_Anyway, have a sketch from **lucife56:** _lucife56 dot deviantart dot com /art/Snape-dueling-283288051

_Next chapter, we'll return to the actual plot._


	40. Chapter 40

_My apologies for the delay. FFN wouldn't let me log in yesterday. I was not pleased. Have a slightly longer chapter as compensation.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist."<strong>  
>– Friedrich Nietzsche.<p>

* * *

><p>The summer came to an end both literally and figuratively at the beginning of September. The <em>Prophet <em>began publishing scathing stories about every member of the Hogwarts staff, mocking the school for not opening, claiming that Dumbledore and his Mudblood allies had somehow cursed the place to prevent the next generation receiving the education they deserved and 'learning the truth'; every petty little scrap Umbridge had managed to dig up as High Inquisitor was splashed across the pages and hyped up as dramatically as possible, mostly focusing on the lack of purebloods among the teachers, the 'propaganda' in lessons, and the fact that 'every single representative of the school has been too cowardly to make themselves available for comment'.

As if that wasn't depressing enough, the weather had broken, and it was now grey and dull and raining almost all the time. According to Severus, it was like this for most of the year, which probably added to the bleak atmosphere of not just this house but the whole estate; it also made the damp worse, and none of them had a clue how to improve it.

All things considered, it was something of a relief when a small silvery Patronus in the shape of a weasel materialised on the kitchen table one morning, interrupting Harry and Ron arguing and arm wrestling while Hermione tried to keep her breakfast out of the way and Severus tried to ignore them all. The Patronus sat on its hind legs and spoke in Mr Weasley's voice. "_Good morning, Severus. Bill says he's heard from Gringotts; tomorrow, from ten am until twelve noon. He says you'll know what he means... all this secrecy is very tiring, you know! Love to the boys, and Hermione._"

"Well, then," Severus said into the ensuing silence as the weasel faded away. "Tomorrow we get to go and rob a bank."

* * *

><p>The following morning, Hermione was starting to feel almost physically ill. Her nerves weren't suited to this. The boys were all right, thrilled with the adventure and genuinely looking forward to this insanity, and Severus had been doing things like this for decades and was completely unruffled – she might have thought it was just another bluff, but he'd slept like a log all night. She knew that, because after the past few weeks of sharing a bed with him she had learned that Severus clearly didn't know that he snored, so when he was only pretending to be asleep – after a nightmare, for example, although those were growing less frequent – he was suspiciously silent.<p>

Studying her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she braided her hair back, she bit her lip worriedly, and heard a soft chuckle from behind her as Severus moved into view.

"Stop that," he chided her. "I'm the only one allowed to bite your lip now." He reached past her for his toothbrush and toothpaste as she moved to one side to let him near the sink. "You haven't eaten. I made those two famine-faces leave you some breakfast, but you should probably get down there quickly before Weasley gets too tempted. How he isn't the size of a zeppelin by now, I will never know."

"I'm not hungry."

"No, I'm sure you're not, but you're going to go and eat it anyway," he told her firmly, before starting to brush his teeth. He explained somewhat indistinctly, "It's important, Hermione. We're going to see some action today. You're going to be needlessly worrying yourself sick, and we've got quite a bit of walking to do, and it's likely we'll be using magic as well. You'll need to eat."

"Is it needless worry?" she asked. "Are you really as confident as you seem, or are you faking it?"

He raised his eyebrows before leaning forward to spit into the basin. "I admit I don't know exactly what we're going to be facing, but this really isn't complicated. I know exactly where the back door is and how to get in, and I know exactly how to get to Bellatrix's vault from that door, and I know how to get out again. None of Gringotts' defences will be in place there, so all we have to worry about is whatever else she's added."

"Oh, is that all?" she replied sarcastically as he rinsed his mouth, and he snorted.

"Relax, woman. Look at me. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Then relax. I've done this sort of thing before. I know what I'm doing, and I'm not going to take chances with your life. Or theirs, I suppose, annoying though they are."

"What if Bellatrix shows up while we're there?"

"Don't start playing 'what if'. _If _she does, the goblins will keep her busy. Half the reason they agreed to this is that they hate her almost as much as I do. You've seen enough to get an idea of what she's like – there is no love lost between the goblins and the purebloods, believe me."

"But –" she started, and cut off with a startled yelp as Severus unceremoniously seized her by the shoulders and kissed her soundly to shut her up.

"Stop it," he told her sternly when he let her go. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," she told him impishly, and stifled a laugh when he glared at her.

* * *

><p>"I don't see why we had to leave so early," Ron complained. "Dad said ten o'clock, right? It's not even half past nine yet."<p>

"We're not there yet, Weasley," Severus told him. "It's quite a long way to the outer limit of Gringotts. We're going to need as much time as possible."

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"London. The Docklands, more specifically. If the weather wasn't so foul you'd see the river just over there. We're going to that warehouse to the left, the one with the blue graffiti on the door saying something rather unpleasant about Kevin, whoever Kevin is. Now pay attention – this isn't a spy movie. We're not going to sneak over, flattening ourselves against walls, ducking and generally acting like idiots. I'm going to walk over there and you're going to follow me as if we have every right to be here. Keep your heads up, don't look around, don't run. Try and act normally."

"You'd really rather be doing this by yourself, wouldn't you," Hermione noted as they did as he instructed. They were all dressed in nondescript clothes, plain trousers or jeans and dark jackets, easy to move in and unremarkable – Severus really had done this before, clearly.

"Yes, frankly," he admitted. "I know my capabilities far better than I know yours, and it is less stressful to only have to look out for myself. Equally, though, we may find ourselves facing something that needs more than one pair of hands. And if anything unexpected happens we can always sacrifice Potter and make our escape," he added slightly more loudly.

"Professor McGonagall ordered you to take care of us," Harry replied easily.

"Unavoidable tragedy, such a shame, we'll build a memorial to his memory, let's move on," Severus drawled, smirking, before slipping his wand unobtrusively from his sleeve as they neared the warehouse. "_Alohomora._" He replaced his wand in his belt and opened the warehouse doors. "Inside, quickly."

"It's not locked by magic?" Ron asked as they followed him in and he shut the doors behind them.

"Goblin magic doesn't work the way ours does, Ron," Hermione told him.

"This isn't the back door anyway," Severus added, "not precisely. This way. Don't dawdle."

"Do you think he knows he's gone back to acting like a teacher?" Harry asked Hermione in a low voice as they headed quickly through the warehouse by wand light. "Whenever he speaks like that I keep expecting him to take points off me."

"This is important, Harry. Think about what we're about to do. I'd let him speak to you however he wants."

"Listen to her, Potter," Severus agreed without looking around, striding quickly towards the far corner of the building. "In fact, all of you, listen to me. I'm not Dumbledore, I'm not going to make you all solemnly swear to obey me – frankly, I wouldn't believe it if you did, not after the past six years – but I want you all to listen if I tell you to do something. I don't know what sort of traps we might find once we get in there, and stopping or dodging when I say so may well save your lives. This isn't a game. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said reflexively, causing the other three to stifle laughter.

"Interesting that you finally learn respect now I'm not teaching you any more," Severus told him dryly. "Here we are." He stooped and tapped his wand sharply on the dirty concrete floor on a spot that looked no different from anywhere else, and stepped back as a shimmer spread across the ground and became a trapdoor that then swung open to show a ladder leading into the darkness.

"Where exactly does this go?" Hermione asked doubtfully as she and the boys peered in.

"The old sewer system."

"Yuck!" Ron exclaimed, and Severus gave him a withering look.

"The part we're going to hasn't been used in centuries, Weasley. Do you really think the goblins want their emergency exit filled with human sewage? We go down here and through a few tunnels, to the edge of the Gringotts wards. Then we wait for ten o'clock. Pay attention to the route, we might be leaving in a hurry. And keep up; we're going to have to move fast. I had hoped for more time." Without further ado, he gripped his lit wand in his teeth and sat down at the edge of the hole, twisting deftly to lower himself onto the ladder and starting to climb downwards.

* * *

><p>So far, things had gone perfectly. The tunnels were old brick, but in good repair, and despite Ron's fears the air was clean enough, although it was chilly. There weren't any rats, and the only sound aside from their rapid footsteps was water dripping somewhere in the distance. Hermione was still nervous, but not as scared as she had been, as she followed Severus; there was something reassuring about his confident attitude, even the edge of Professor Snape-style snarkiness that was showing through. He knew what he was doing, and she found it hard to think of anything they might encounter that he couldn't deal with.<p>

Severus' watch beeped, startling them all. He was the only one who had a digital watch, although he hadn't explained why he had it. Extinguishing his cigarette, he drew his wand and glanced at them calmly. "Ready?" They nodded, and as he stepped forward over whatever mystifying invisible line that formed the boundary of Gringotts, they followed him.

What had appeared to be just another brick-lined, roughly circular tunnel with a shallow trench in the bottom faded away, and they halted in confusion, staring around the cave they now found themselves in. "What the..." Ron began. "This isn't part of Gringotts, is it?"

"Yes and no," Severus said unhelpfully. "Come on. We've still got quite a way to go to reach the vaults, and unfortunately most of it is uphill."

"Why didn't you ask them to remove the spells so we could Apparate?"

"They wouldn't have done it. Basic rule for any negotiations; don't ask for impossibilities and don't offer anything you can't afford to lose."

As they walked, and occasionally climbed, he explained a little more. "Gringotts is far more extensive than anyone fully realises except those who work there. At various points it connects to natural caves under London, like this one, and to the sewers, and old mines, and to the Underground – there's another exit in a side tunnel off the Northern line somewhere that they call the mouse hole, but that is only one way, and inaccessible by anyone who isn't a goblin. This cave isn't technically part of the bank's official territory, but the goblins control it anyway. There are alarm wards placed every few feet throughout the cave, and probably a lot of delightful traps and snares designed to kill thieves in horrific ways; that is why we needed Gringotts to co-operate before we tried this. Otherwise we would have had to try and bluff or trick our way in through the main entrance, and I can't see that ending well."

"How do you know all this?" Ron asked. "Bill's bound by all kinds of charms to stop him talking about security. I guess everyone who works for the bank is, at least the humans. Do you know any of the goblins?"

"Not personally, no." Severus smirked suddenly, his eyes glittering in the dimness – there was light here, of a sort, although Hermione had no idea where it was coming from. "Initially, I heard of it the same way I came across quite a lot of my information. I overheard it in a pub."

"You're kidding."

"No. You would be amazed – and quite worried – by how many important secrets you can hear in a pub. Especially in Knockturn Alley."

"I dunno why we're surprised," Harry muttered. "How many weird and scary animals has Hagrid won off blokes in a pub by now?"

"Precisely. You can find virtually anything down there if you know where to look. I also spoke to a few Gringotts employees about working for the bank, back in the days when there was still a chance that I might be able to choose my own damned career instead of wasting it on you lot. The rest was investigation and trial and error."

"Have you been here before?"

"Not this far, no, but I've been through the tunnels to the edge of their wards. It's not much further – there's a short climb ahead, and then we'll be inside Gringotts properly and quite close to the vaults we want. The Lestrange vault is on one of the deeper levels, luckily."

"You all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder at her. "You've been pretty quiet."

"I'm fine. Why does the girl always have to be the weakest one?" she asked, irritated at the fact she was starting to sound a bit out of breath. "I'm fitter than either of you two, for a start."

"Probably fitter than me, too," Severus agreed dryly. "Unfortunately, on average, women tend to be weaker simply because you're smaller. Less muscle mass and a smaller lung capacity. And running doesn't really train you for climbing; besides, it's been months since we stopped jogging."

"You've been getting other exercise though – shit!" Ron's mutter hadn't been quite quiet enough; there was a scrabble and a thump as he fell with quite a hard impact onto the rock. "Damnit! I think my knee is bleeding."

"Good," Severus told him, in a cold voice they hadn't heard for a long time. "That wasn't funny."

After a pause Ron said quietly, "I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as you will be if I hear you say anything like that again. Do I comment on how long you seem to be spending in the shower of late? Then keep your mouth shut."

They finished the final climb in silence.

* * *

><p>By the time they reached the semi-familiar rough stone tunnels under the bank, the atmosphere had eased a bit. It could have been a lot worse. When you lived in such close quarters, you had to accept that there wasn't much privacy, not even with magic, and you learned to ignore it. Ron had apologised without arguing or trying to justify it, and the comment hadn't been meant maliciously; he always teased his friends, and occasionally both he and Harry forgot that Severus didn't actually fall into that category. Besides, there were more important things to deal with right now.<p>

Severus seemed to have forgotten all about it, focusing instead on what they were doing; he had gone back into predator mode, almost prowling along as they followed the metal rails fixed to the floor, his eyes gleaming alertly as he constantly looked around. This ability to focus on the present to the exclusion of all else had defined him since their first year; Hermione knew he wouldn't allow himself to lose his temper until this was all over and they were back at the house, by which time he probably would have truly forgotten it, or calmed down enough to pretend he had. Which was lucky for Ron, really, although it didn't mean she wouldn't make him regret it. She could tolerate a certain amount of teasing, but she wasn't going to allow jokes about her and Severus' sex life.

"All right," Severus said finally, breaking the silence. "Bellatrix's vault is around the next corner. Wait here for a moment." He moved forward, shifting his weight smoothly to the balls of his feet and prowling down the tunnel without a sound; he really was good at this.

"I really am sorry, you know," Ron murmured as they watched his shadowy form progressing further down the tunnel.

"You need to remember you can't go as far with him as you can with me or Harry," she told him quietly. "He's not your friend, Ron. Or Harry's. Believe me, he hasn't forgotten any of the last six years. He still doesn't like either of you very much."

"I kind of figured that," Harry said calmly. "We assumed he was only putting up with us because of you. It's one of the reasons I worked out he probably liked you – there's absolutely no other reason he'd tolerate me. Anyway, for Snape, that was actually really friendly. Yeah, Ron cut his knee, but that was an accident. It was only a Trip Jinx."

"It was friendlier than I would have been. Don't joke about _that_, okay?" Apart from anything else, it would backfire; she knew she could embarrass the boys a lot more than they could her. They were both still virgins, after all, and being male they could only talk about sex by boasting to other men, not by listening to a female friend.

Before the discussion could continue, they saw Severus reach the corner up ahead. He froze for a second, then backed up hastily, pausing for a long moment before turning and hurrying back towards them; he had gone pale, he was scowling, and muttering obscenities under his breath that had the boys staring – Hermione was used to hearing him swear when he was under stress, but they weren't.

"What's wrong?" she asked swiftly.

"Something I wasn't expecting," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck." He exhaled shakily and shook his head. "Weasley, do you pay attention when your brothers talk about work?"

"I already said Bill can't tell us anything about the bank..."

"I meant a different brother. How much do you know about Charles' job?"

"Charlie? Uh, well, I used to like listening to his stories, but... wait, why? Is there..."

"Yes," Severus said grimly. "There's a sodding _dragon _outside the vault."

* * *

><p>The dragon was asleep, at least for the moment, so they each took it in turns to creep to the corner for a look. Once Hermione had got over the shock – aside from Norbert, and the Triwizard Tournament, she had never seen a dragon before, and she'd never been that close to an adult – she found it rather sad, actually; the dragon looked quite old and neglected and unhealthy. There were some ugly scars on its face, and its scales were cracked and peeling. Its wings were tattered and there wasn't enough space in the passageway for it to extend them, or even to stand up properly by the look of things. And its back legs were chained to the floor.<p>

Regrouping further down the tunnel, they all stared at Ron hopefully. Clearly even Severus didn't know how to deal with this; of everything he might have thought of, paranoid Slytherin that he was, he obviously hadn't expected a dragon. "Double-crossing pointy-faced bat-eared bastards," he muttered irritably. "No wonder they were so certain we couldn't pull this off. More fool me for only specifying that they remove their magical defences, instead of including any physical guards. Well, what can you tell us?"

Ron shrugged uneasily. "I dunno. I don't recognise the species, because it's in such a state. I can't even tell if it's male or female."

"I don't want to know its life story, Weasley, I want to know how we stop it eating us. I can tell you dozens if not hundreds of uses for virtually every part of a dragon corpse, but all I know about live dragons is that they're resistant to most magic. How do we kill it?"

"Do we have to kill it?" Hermione asked, a little sadly; the boys didn't look happy either.

"I don't think we can," Ron said before Severus could answer; by the look on his face he hadn't been sure how to respond anyway. Her lover's practicality bordered on the ruthless sometimes and she doubted it had occurred to him to do anything except kill it. "It takes a full team to Stun an adult dragon that size. Charlie's not had to kill one very often but from what he says it's almost impossible, and I think the method is different for every species. I dunno how to do it but I don't think even the four of us together would be good enough."

"If the dragon drops dead, won't Bellatrix work out someone's been in her vault?" Harry added, clearly on the dragon's side as well. "I thought we were trying to make it look like we'd never been here."

Severus gave them all a frustrated look. "Bleeding-heart Gryffindors," he muttered, although he didn't sound all that sincere; Hermione remembered Dilys telling her once that he liked animals. "Fine. If we don't kill it, what _do_ we do? I know they're almost impossible to Stun, I remember that from the Triwizard Tournament."

"It's already asleep," she pointed out. "We just need to stop it waking up. So that means we need to stop it sensing us, right?"

"Those scars on its face," Harry said, nodding. "I think its eyes were damaged, and it's obviously been down here in the dark for a while. I don't think it can see very well."

"It's not its eyes we have to worry about. Dragons can hear and smell really well," Ron said.

"A Bubble-Head Charm would stop it smelling us," Hermione said instantly. "It purifies all the air."

"Okay, fine. That just leaves its hearing. Ron, how do dragons' ears work? Can we plug them with something? Maybe even puncture its eardrums or something – temporarily, at least."

"No good, it'd wake up. It's only sleeping – even a dragon would feel that."

"Severus, would _Muffliato _work?" Hermione asked, turning. She found him looking at them with his head cocked thoughtfully to one side, a slightly speculative look in his eyes as he watched them planning, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

He shook his head with a slight smile. "Nothing. It doesn't matter. I don't know if _Muffliato_ would work or not – it was never meant to block out all sound, only human conversation. It might work, if we don't make too much noise, and if the dragon doesn't react to a sudden faint buzzing noise. If it finds tinnitus annoying we might have a problem." He looked at his watch and bit his lip; Hermione recognised her own nervous habit with a start. "We're losing time. I suppose we have to try it. Who's best at the Bubble-Head spell?"

"Hermione," the boys said in unison, and he snorted softly.

"Fair enough. I'll do _Muffliato,_ a spell always works best for the one who created it. Don't speak above a whisper and try not to make many other noises. Potter, Weasley, you two get Shield Charms ready and watch the dragon. If it so much as twitches, shield us and we all run for it. I'm not duelling a bloody dragon, no matter what's at stake. I don't know how the hell they got it down here."

"Just brought it down when it was little, I suppose," Ron said with a shrug, and Severus shook his head.

"My vault isn't far from here – my mother's family is about the same age as the Lestranges. There definitely wasn't a dragon here last summer. It's obviously been kept underground somewhere, but not here. Come on, let's see if this works..."

* * *

><p><em>So far, so good, <em>Hermione thought guardedly, watching the dragon warily. For a moment she was reminded of the first year, and trying not to wake Fluffy as they gingerly pushed his paw out of the way; the dragon's breath was actually worse, since the filtering of the Bubble-Head Charm was only one way. Its laboured breathing hadn't altered when the spells were cast and it was still asleep, for the moment. Nearby there was a box containing what looked like giant football rattles, and a couple of swords, which explained the scars on the poor thing's face.

Catching her looking, Severus whispered, "We'll report it to the RSPCA later," and smirked when she glared at him. Unrepentant, he led them past the dragon's shoulders to one of the half-dozen vaults it was guarding. "This is where we find out if the goblins upheld their part of the bargain," he murmured, gingerly extending his left hand and holding his palm an inch or two from the door for a moment before cautiously touching it with a fingertip and exhaling with relief when nothing happened.

"Right. We still have about an hour to get what we came for and get the hell out. I want you three to start trying to open the door; you know how to detect the spells on it by now. I want to go and get something from my vault while we're here, since there won't be another chance. I won't be long. If you get the door open, do not go inside yet, just stay in the doorway and look for the cup by eye and see if you can find it. Do not touch anything until I get back. If the dragon starts to wake up or if someone comes, run for it, and don't wait for me. Understood?"

"I'm coming with you," Hermione whispered instantly. She tried to smile when he looked at her. "I hate babysitting. And you know I'll only worry."

"I am literally going twenty feet around the next corner. I'll be five minutes at most."

"Even so."

He mock-scowled at her. "Fine. Potter, Weasley, make a start, and for God's sake be careful."

Leaving the two of them very cautiously starting the charm work needed, Hermione followed Severus further down the tunnel, side-stepping to avoid the dragon's tail and following the rails around the corner. She'd never been this deep below ground; her own vault was only on the first level down, although Harry's and Ron's were both quite a bit further in. "I didn't realise your mother's family was so old," she said softly.

He glanced back at her and shrugged. "Nor did I, at first. I understand the Princes were quite prominent once, many centuries ago, but they were never a particularly large family or a very wealthy one and the bloodline dwindled quickly to a single family line, largely because they were too smart to closely interbreed but too stubborn or stupid to seek fresh blood by marrying half-bloods or Muggleborns. I am the last. And as you will see in a moment, there was nothing left to inherit – I understand my great-grandfather had a serious gambling problem and lost what little of the estate that remained."

"Why did your mother marry a Muggle?" she asked curiously. She doubted it had been for love; someone of Eileen's blood and upbringing shouldn't have spoken to a Muggle often enough to form any sort of attachment, especially a working-class man from somewhere like Spinner's End.

"I haven't got a bloody clue," he replied shortly, his eyes hardening; this was still something of a forbidden topic, although he had indicated that he would talk about it eventually, when he was ready. Nodding without taking offense – he couldn't help snapping sometimes – she kept silent and followed him to another vault door, identical to all the others, and watched him digging a key out of his pocket.

"Don't you need a goblin to open it for you?"

"The pureblood vaults on these deep levels don't need it. They'll respond to anyone of the right bloodline. Weasley's family are on the first level that are controlled solely by Gringotts, and Potter's is a level above that – although he could probably use Gryffindor's, I suppose, if it still exists. That's down here somewhere, I assume." He sounded somewhat distracted, his posture tense as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Hermione peered in curiously; it was huge, much larger than her own vault, although the goblin had explained to her parents that hers was a school vault designed only to hold school spending money and when she finished her education she would be upgraded to a permanent Granger vault somewhere else that would be much larger. This cell-like cave was about the size of the Charms classroom at Hogwarts, although it was hard to accurately judge; it probably looked bigger than it really was, because it was almost completely empty. Six large chests stood open against the wall nearby; two were half-filled with a jumble of gold, silver and bronze coins, although not much of either by the look of things. A third held an assortment of small boxes and bags. The other three were empty, and there was nothing else in the vault.

She recognised the closed, almost shamed look on Severus' face, as he crossed quickly to the third chest and began digging through the boxes and bags inside it with rapid, jerky movements; she'd seen it before in Ron's eyes when they'd stopped at the Weasley vault. The peculiar shame that came from being poor, and hating it. Leaning against the wall and trying to sound as though it really wasn't a big deal, she observed mildly, "I've seen your lab, you know. I've seen where most of your money must have gone. It's not as though I think you blew it all on the horses or something." And she still hadn't forgotten the money he had given her parents to help them leave quickly; they hadn't really needed it, but their own money was tied up in the business and it wouldn't have been easy for them to get hold of any spare cash that fast.

"Don't," he said tiredly without looking up. "That's not where most of it went. Most of it was taken by the Dark Lord and is now helping to fund the abomination at the Ministry, and the rest was spent on... damage limitation. Please don't try to make me feel better about this." He pulled a small bag from the bottom of the chest and stood up, glancing briefly into the bag before retying it shut and shoving it in his pocket, clearly not going to explain what it was.

"Severus," she said conversationally, "what, exactly, have I ever said or done in the past six years to lead you to think that I give a damn about money?" That earned her a sharp look, before he nodded, conceding the point. Giving the sparse contents of the vault a disgusted look, he shrugged and walked past her, holding the door until she was out before closing it and locking it again. "Are you going to tell me what's in that bag?"

"Not yet, no."

* * *

><p>When they got back to the Lestrange vault, Harry and Ron were both peering with exaggerated caution around the open door, looking pretty pleased with themselves. Hermione took a look; it was a cave much like the one she had just seen, only this one was stuffed with glittery treasures that would put an army of magpies to shame, everything from chests of coins and jewels to preserved skins of magical creatures, statues and gold-inlaid furniture. <em>So this is how the other half live?<em>

"She doesn't half own a lot of crap," Ron observed in a whisper.

Severus gave him a look. "Crap?" he repeated quietly. "Have you any idea how much some of these things are _worth, _Weasley?" He looked back into the vault. Hermione saw his gaze fixing on a set of cut-glass potion flasks on a shelf, each filled with different coloured liquids and with their stoppers inlaid with jewels, and there was undisguised hunger in his eyes; he clearly knew what they were, and just as clearly wanted them.

"Can we nick some of it, then? It'd be a bit daft to rob a bank and not get any money from it..." Ron said hopefully.

From the look on his face, Severus was obviously very, very tempted, as he hesitated before finally shaking his head with a frustrated expression. "We can't. The idea is that nobody knows we've been here. The goblins will know what we've taken, but there's so much here that neither Bellatrix nor Rodolphus will know anything is missing, if we're careful." He gave the potion bottles another longing glance and sighed wistfully. "We're wasting time. Go inside and look around, but make sure someone's always here holding the door open, just in case. Don't touch anything."

It turned out there were a lot of gold cups and goblets and so on inside the vault, and examining each one visually for an image of a badger wasn't easy, but there was a lot of magic humming in the air and none of them really needed the warning not to touch anything; at least half the items seemed to be enchanted, and Ron was the unlucky one who found out there were Gemino and Flagrante curses on the rest, burning his foot when he stood on a loose coin that promptly multiplied and grew red hot.

Finally Harry said softly, "I think I know where it is."

"Yes?"

He pointed to a shelf well above any of their heads. "Up there, because that's the only cup we can't easily reach, and that's typical of our luck."

"Ha. Probably true." Severus shaded his eyes and squinted upwards. "I think you're right."

"So how do we get to it without touching anything?" Ron asked from where he was taking a turn to hold the door and keep an eye on the dragon. "Can you fly to it?"

"Not really. There's no moving air down here. I'd have to take a hell of a run up, and there's not enough room. I can't stop and hover without a decent updraft."

"_Mobilicorpus_?" Harry suggested, doubtfully.

"It would be tricky – an inch in the wrong direction and everything will come crashing down and burn us all very badly. I'd rather not be burned again if possible." Severus bit his lip absently, staring at the cup with an annoyed scowl.

"I'm the tallest," Ron said slowly. "I reckon I could lift one of you on my shoulders or something, at least for a minute or two. Hermione's lightest, I think, but to be honest you and Harry are both pretty skinny too, and have longer arms..."

"Thanks, mate," Harry said before Severus could respond, his green eyes glimmering with laughter for a moment. "I'm not that skinny any more, anyway. It could work, but then how do we get the cup down without touching it? We'd need dragonhide gloves or something, unless we can undo the charms on it."

Severus sighed irritably. "All right, we need to take a look at it more closely. If you think you can manage it, Weasley, give me a boost up so I can see the damned thing, but if you think you're going to lose your balance, tell me now. Being buried under a lot of red hot metal sounds like one of the more unpleasant ways to die."

Ron was smart enough to actually think about it, as he switched places with Harry and came over. "If you can steady yourself against the edge of the shelf just in case, it should be fine. The shelves aren't charmed, are they?"

"No. All right, then."

Ron made a stirrup with his hands for Severus' boot and shifted his legs apart a bit to brace himself, as the older wizard reached up to grip the edge of the shelf with one hand and rested the other lightly on the redhead's shoulder, balancing as Ron straightened up. It looked horribly precarious, and Hermione bit her lip furiously as she watched anxiously; Severus was doing his best to look like this was perfectly normal as he cautiously reached out with the hand not gripping the shelf and began examining the cup.

"It's the right cup, at least," he reported softly. "I don't know if I can take the charms off... _Finite... _no, I'd need a lot more time than we have. Hold still a moment, Weasley, I need both hands." Moving very carefully, he reached into his pocket and drew out the bag he had taken from his vault, gingerly and slowly transferring a couple of small items from it back into his pocket. "All right, Potter, let's see your Seeker reflexes. Come here."

Hermione took over as doorstop, glancing for a second at the still-sleeping dragon before turning her attention back to the others.

"Take this bag, Potter. Now, in a minute I'm going to use my wand to hook one of the handles, and I'm going to drop the cup. You need to catch it in the bag, without letting it touch your skin or letting it hit Weasley's back. Once it's in the bag, it will be fine, it's reinforced dragonhide – close the drawstring immediately so you can't accidentally touch it. Do you think you can do it? If you miss, we're in trouble, because it will probably bounce and knock some things over. Decide quickly, Weasley's starting to sweat."

"You're not heavy, I'm just worried about losing my balance, thanks to your comforting description of being burned," Ron muttered. "In fact, you're really not heavy. My little sister weighs more than you do. I can understand why Mum's always trying to feed you now."

"Shut up, Weasley. Well, Potter?"

Harry took the bag and stretched the mouth of it open as far as he could. "I think so, although if you can control the fall when you drop it that will help."

"I'll try. Ready? Then here we go..."

All of them held their breath as Severus carefully pushed the tip of his wand through one of the handles and lifted the cup off the shelf, lowering it gingerly towards Harry as far as he could before it started to slip. Harry held the bag open, concentrating so fiercely he had started to sweat as well, as the cup dropped neatly straight into the bag and all four of them exhaled heavily in relief. Harry hastily tied the bag shut and backed off, as Severus slid his wand back into his belt.

"All right, then. Slowly, Weasley, I can't see behind me to step down..."

"Here," Hermione said quietly, moving forward to help him – and unashamedly using the opportunity to touch his backside as she guided him backwards, squeezing playfully. He gave her what was obviously supposed to be a look of rebuke, utterly spoiled by the way his lips twitched as he tried not to grin.

"Behave, you," he murmured almost under his breath, as Ron straightened up with a relieved expression. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>The vault door clicked closed with a quiet finality that suggested they had been right to hold it open; the goblins had probably only arranged for it to be opened once. Harry hefted the bag. "What are we going to do now? Go back to where we did the locket, and destroy it?"<p>

"No, I want a turn this time," Ron said, grinning. He held up his hands when Severus glared at him. "I know, I know, not Fiendfyre. I've got an idea. Please?"

After a long pause, Severus' dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Go ahead, but if something goes wrong, I am going to feed you to our scaly friend here and tell your mother it was an accident."

Still grinning, Ron nodded as though this had actually been a joke and beckoned to Harry, lowering his voice and whispering to him. Harry grinned too and moved carefully towards the sleeping dragon, opening the bag and gently upending it before pulling it off, leaving the Horcrux standing upside-down on the floor of the tunnel a little way in front of the dragon's head. He backed off to stand with Hermione and Severus as Ron tore the sleeve of his jacket and used the frayed bit of cloth to very carefully brush across the scales at a certain point on the dragon's neck; Hermione dug her fingers into Severus' arm, holding her breath and wondering what the hell her friend was doing.

The dragon twitched slightly before drawing in a rattling breath and coughing irritably. The cough produced a small fireball, which slagged quite a respectable stretch of the stone floor of the tunnel despite having passed through the golden cup first; the cup turned white hot in less than a second and melted, rather anticlimactically.

Everyone stared at the dragon with bated breath for a few moments, as it coughed again and shifted, turning its head slightly, before settling down again and continuing to sleep.

"Well," Harry whispered, "I guess it worked."

"I told you dragon fire would do it," Ron said, rejoining them with a broad grin. "Charlie told me the sanctuary in Romania has a whole section for destroying dangerous items, they get 'em sent from all over the world."

"Not bad, Weasley," Severus conceded, before clouting him hard across one ear. "But you didn't know for certain that it would work. Please don't gamble with evil fragments of the Dark Lord's soul in future. Especially since if the dragon had woken up we would all be in a great deal of trouble. Speaking of which, let's get out of here before it does wake up. No, leave the charms – they'll evaporate in an hour or so anyway, and it gives more time for our scent to fade. Come on."

* * *

><p>The mood in the tunnels as they walked briskly back towards the cave was cheerfully upbeat, all told. Five Horcruxes down, and only one left; all right, it was the most difficult one, but still, they were so nearly there! Even Severus was almost smiling, and the boys were practically bouncing along. For her part, Hermione mostly just felt relieved they'd made it out without anything going disastrously wrong, although it was certainly nice to see everyone in a better temper, particularly her often-surly lover.<p>

Harry was trying not to laugh, and the soft muffled noises attracted her attention. "What's so funny, Harry?"

He grinned at her. "Just thinking about the cup... it looked a lot like the Holy Grail, to me. Reckon this is Castle Arrgh?"

Caught by the idea, she stifled a laugh. "No, but the next Horcrux hunt is going to involve a quest to find a shrubbery."

"Ni," Severus said with a straight face, his eyes glittering, and Hermione grinned at him, delighted that he'd got the reference and joined in. She was certain now that somewhere in the house there had to be a VCR and a box of videos that they hadn't found yet, unless he'd had a 'disagreement' with them too.

"Don't you mean Nagi-ni?" Harry asked innocently, and Severus groaned, giving him a disgusted look.

"God, Harry, that really was absolutely terrible," Hermione told him.

"Yeah, actually, it was. Sorry!" He grinned. "It's a shame we don't have any coconut shells, though."

"Well, coconuts are non-migratory," Severus observed dryly.

"What are you all talking about?" Ron asked blankly.

"Muggle thing," Harry and Hermione chorused simultaneously.

"Harry," Hermione said after a few moments, giving him a suspicious look.

"Yes?"

"I know you're trying to come up with some sort of joke about Castle Anthrax. Stop it."

He gave her a transparently innocent look that absolutely did not work. "Yes, o Zoot."

She rolled her eyes. "I mean it, stop that. I'm not into spanking."

She should have known better; Severus, walking next to her, lowered his head and murmured under his breath, just loudly enough for her to hear, "What about the oral sex?" and she felt her face turn bright red. Turning, she punched him just under the rib cage the way he'd taught her, and he doubled over with a wheeze of breathless laughter as the air left his lungs, straightening up after a moment with a wicked grin and a muffled cough.

Harry hadn't heard the exchange, mercifully, and looked rather bewildered. "Do I want to know?"

"No, absolutely not," Hermione said firmly, stepping on Severus' foot as she overtook him and trying to ignore his quiet, throaty chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine. "Come on, Sir Galahad, let's get back to Camelot."

"Why do I have to be Sir Galahad?" Harry protested. "That's not fair. He was a wimp."

"Well, who would you prefer? You don't get to be King Arthur. Sir Lancelot, maybe, running into walls and killing everyone? Sir Bedevere the total idiot? Sir Robin the chicken? Or Bors, who gets killed by a white rabbit? Or the Black Knight who just gets hacked to pieces, perhaps."

"Can't I be Sir Not-appearing-in-this-film and go on holiday?"

"No."

"So who are you, then, if you're not going to be Zoot?" he asked, grinning.

"I don't know, there weren't many women in it. Now come on, or I'll turn you into a newt."

"I don't know what any of you are talking about!" Ron whined.

Hermione smiled. "We'll explain it later, Ron. I think between the three of us we probably know the film well enough to be able to re-enact the whole thing, although some of the voices might be difficult. I can do a bad French accent..."

"I can do a very poor Scottish accent," Severus volunteered, having regained his breath. "It's a very good way to annoy Minerva, actually."

"I've been dying to ask this for years," Harry said. "How have none of the other teachers killed you?"

He smirked. "None of them are good enough." Further conversation was interrupted when his watch beeped again, and he swore. "Shit!"

"What is it?"

"That's the five minute warning. We've got five minutes to get out of the cave and into the sewer before they re-arm the wards; I thought we had more time than that... Run!"

* * *

><p>Hermione was incredibly grateful for having spent so many mornings over the past two years out running. Having to get up so early, often in foul weather, and having to occasionally deal with Professor Snape in a bad mood had seemed like a terrible price to pay at the time, but without it she'd be in real trouble now. She was out of breath, but not badly, and she was also used to running in poor light with only her wand to show the way.<p>

The boys weren't so lucky – the only running they had ever done was to get to lessons on time. Harry was doing well enough, although he was starting to wheeze and his glasses were beginning to steam up, but Ron was beginning to falter – his burned foot wasn't helping; she had healed the burn but it was probably still a bit tender.

Severus was keeping pace with him, as much as possible on the uneven floor of the cave, and probably wishing again that he was on his own; Hermione recalled the first time she'd seen him run, at the end of the third year when she and Harry had used the Time-Turner. They had seen him sprint from the castle to the Whomping Willow, and although neither of them had been in any fit state to acknowledge it at the time, looking back now she could appreciate how fast he'd covered the distance. He could have left them all behind, especially now he was regaining his health. In fact, she supposed, he could have just flown, however that worked.

In the end it was Harry who fell. His foot caught a gap in the rocky floor and twisted, and he slammed painfully to the ground with a yelp, almost immediately trying to struggle to his feet.

"Keep going!" Severus snarled when Hermione tried to stop, shoving Ron forward as he skidded around. Seizing Harry's arm, he hauled him upright. "Come on, Potter, run or die. I'll leave you behind if I have to." He sounded as though he genuinely meant it, but despite that he pulled Harry's arm over his shoulders and half-dragged him along as fast as he could limp.

"How much time...?" Ron panted.

"No idea. Save your breath."

* * *

><p>Five minutes had never seemed so long; Hermione quickly learned that maintaining a brisk jog for an hour was very different from maintaining a flat-out sprint for even a couple of minutes. By the time the end of the caves came into view a serious stitch had her hunching over as she ran and sent fire stabbing through her with every agonised breath, and Ron was obviously about to collapse, and from the laboured breathing behind her Harry and Severus weren't doing any better. She had been trying to count the seconds in her head, but she'd lost count when Harry fell; still, they had to be almost out of time.<p>

She wasn't sure what the Gringotts wards actually did, and right now she didn't have the breath to ask. They probably didn't _do _much in themselves, she reflected, trying to think of something other than the tight burning feeling in her chest; probably they just trapped people so other security measures could be employed. Even so... a faint humming noise reached her ears and the tiny fine hairs on her arms stood on end, and she dragged in enough air to gasp, "Is that..."

"Yes," Severus panted hoarsely behind her. "Going to be close..."

The four of them crossed the barrier at the last possible second, it seemed – Hermione felt the sting as the reforming ward just caught her, a nasty electric current that hurt more from the shock than because it was particularly painful in itself. Ron yelped as it hit him, and Harry and Severus both collapsed, having caught more of it, although from the way Severus was swearing he was probably all right.

A moment later Hermione revised that estimate; he could at times be startlingly foul-mouthed, but the language he was using right now was so coarse she didn't actually understand half of it. Harry squirmed upright, panting and rubbing his arms, and slumped back against the wall of the tunnel. "Ow," he commented breathlessly, before blinking. "What's with him?"

Hermione hunkered down next to Severus, who had curled in on himself and was still swearing breathlessly; she could see his hands shaking. Quietly, she asked a question she hadn't thought she would ever need again. "Severus, what number?"

He stopped swearing, although by the sound of it only because he had run out of breath, and panted heavily for a moment before growling curtly, "Eight." He sounded more annoyed than hurt, but she didn't believe it; grimly she started the nervous charms she had learned what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked breathlessly. "It didn't hurt much."

"Old nerve damage," Hermione said shortly, trying to monitor the tremors. "It would be easier to see how well this was working if you'd stop fighting to pretend it's not happening, you know," she told Severus, who ignored her.

"We don't have time for this. We need to get further away."

"Shut up, Severus," she told him. "I need to fix Harry's ankle before we can move anyway, and we're all too out of breath to go anywhere right now. We can take five minutes to get our breath back. Were you lying when you said eight?"

"No," he replied sullenly, closing his eyes somewhat sulkily, although after a moment he did co-operate by uncurling and shifting slowly and painfully onto his back, trying to control his breathing and relax. "Son of a bitch... I suppose it was going too well, wasn't it."

"It could have been a lot worse," she replied absently. "Are you sure it's only eight? You're shaking a lot more than I remember."

"I wasn't prepared for it. I... there are things I do when I know I'm going to get hurt. Meditation, and so on. Bracing myself. I didn't expect this sort of pain today." He exhaled heavily, scowling. "Damnit. I'm going to be sore as hell tomorrow."

"I'll go easy on you," she promised teasingly, trying to distract him – and suspecting, accurately, that part of his annoyance was the fact that they were unlikely to have much fun later if he was hurt. His lips twitched, his scowl softening, and the shaking began to ease. "It shouldn't be too difficult to avoid electric shocks in future."

Opening his eyes, he gave her a look. "To answer the question you were so carefully not asking, no, this isn't permanent. It took about a year for me to heal and recover after the first war. It will take longer this time, but it isn't permanent." Sighing, he relaxed a little more. "This isn't quite the same as the Cruciatus. It's easing. This is what those charms were really meant for." He raised his voice. "Potter, how bad is your foot?"

"I've managed to get my trainer off," Harry reported. "It looks pretty swollen, but I can move my toes, so I don't think anything's broken. It hurts like hell, though."

"You should try it from my end," he muttered, shivering briefly and relaxing further. "God, that's better. Thank you." Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall.

"You're welcome. Okay, Harry, let's look at your foot – the sooner we get home, the happier I'll be."

* * *

><p>Footsore and tired, the four of them limped into the living room a while later and promptly collapsed; the boys sprawled on the battered sofa as Severus sank into his normal armchair and Hermione immediately shoved him to one side just far enough that she could curl up against him. Usually they weren't really demonstrative in public, but the boys were used to the idea by now and Severus seemed too tired to care, absently sliding an arm around her waist and relaxing.<p>

"What now?" Harry asked wearily. "Please tell me it involves sleep." His stomach growled audibly. "And food."

"I need to contact Headquarters briefly with a message for Dumbledore. Then food and sleep sound like good ideas," Severus agreed wearily. "We did well today," he added, and Hermione grinned at the boys, all three of them knowing that was the closest he would get to praising any of them. He drew his wand and Summoned the Floo powder to him, tossing a handful in the direction of the fire he had just lit, raising his voice enough to call, "Twelve Grimmauld Place. Anyone home?"

"What do you want?" Lupin's voice said in an impatient tone from the green flames a moment later.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Lupin. I assume nobody else is around, if you're being that impolite. I have a message for Dumbledore, if you would be so kind as to pass it on," Severus drawled with all his former cold sarcasm. Listening to him, nobody would have guessed that he was half-lying casually in an armchair with Hermione curled up on his lap.

"Fine. What is it?"

"The only one left is the snake. I need to know everything he hasn't told us already."

"What?"

"He'll know what I mean. Tell him."

The Floo call ended without another word, and for a moment there was silence before Harry said blankly, "Well, that was friendly. Why does he hate you so much all of a sudden?"

Severus laughed shortly. "Because I told the school he was a werewolf. Because he blames me for Black being killed at the Ministry and for Nymphadora getting hurt at Hogwarts. Because he's had to endure his first full moon in years without his precious Wolfsbane. And because it's not 'all of a sudden' at all; he has always hated me, or at least disliked me. He just never had the balls to admit it."

"Even Harry doesn't blame you for Sirius any more," Ron objected, frowning. "Tonks wasn't your fault no matter how you twist it. Nor is the Wolfsbane."

"Thank you for that completely unnecessary vindication, Weasley," Severus told him dryly. "It doesn't make any difference. Lupin always disliked me almost as much as his little friends did, he is simply hypocritical about it. Besides, he does have the right to dislike me now, after I outed him."

"Are you saying you regret it?" Harry asked.

"No. I set you the essay on werewolves to pay him back for the Boggart, but I didn't tell everyone until he showed that he could not be trusted to take precautions and avoid accidents." His voice had cooled. "It is sheer luck that none of us were bitten that night and he has nobody to blame but himself."

"And you," Ron said, trying to lighten the mood.

Severus snorted. "I suspect the real cause of his mood is actually Nymphadora pushing him to stop dithering around and _do_ something."

"He can't exactly tell her he's still mourning Sirius," Hermione murmured, too quietly for the boys to hear. That had only been a guess, but from the near-silent vibration of laughter, Severus agreed with her. More loudly, she said, "Well, I don't see why that's your fault."

"I'm the Marauders' scapegoat," Severus replied with a shrug. "Enough. We have successfully destroyed our fifth Horcrux today; I think that calls for a celebration, of sorts. I'll go and get some decent food for once. If neither of you annoy me before I go, I might even pick up some beer for you."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Coriacea <strong>is looking for a Brit-picker, someone who knows about animal biology (wizarding and Muggle) and someone who knows about Australia, to help with a fic she's writing. Message her if you'd like to help out.  
><em>


	41. Chapter 41

_Important note at the end of this chapter. Also, _someone told me anonymously that Post Tenebras Lux is being published on Wattpad. I've taken a quick look and can't see it, but if anyone has any more information I'd appreciate it. Apparently they are giving me full credit, but nonetheless, I don't remember giving permission for my story to be archived there. Which doesn't mean that I didn't, this isn't a huge I-need-your-help problem, I'm just curious. Also also, thank you to whoever sent me an anonymous valentine on dA!_  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home for sending one slowly crackers."<strong>  
>– Diogenes Small.<p>

* * *

><p>Three of them weren't used to such stressful, nerve-wracking and energetic activities as robbing the most secure place in wizarding Britain; Severus was used to it, at least more than they were, but he was also more injured than he was willing to admit, which was hardly a surprise. Either way, that afternoon had passed surprisingly sedately despite the attempt at celebration, and they had all sought sleep early and slept straight through – at least, Hermione had.<p>

She opened her eyes blearily now, still feeling rather worn out – more from emotional stress than physical weariness – and noted from the light that it was later than she usually woke. More unusually, Severus was still absolutely dead to the world; he almost always woke first, but she could hear his faint, barely-audible snoring behind her and there was a certain heaviness to the feel of his arm around her and the press of his body against her back that indicated he wasn't going to wake in a hurry.

Not that there was any real reason to get up, she supposed tiredly, yawning. It wasn't as if they had anything to do until either they heard from Dumbledore or someone worked out how they could find Nagini. That was likely to cause a few problems fairly soon, since nobody in this house was good at sitting and doing nothing. _Don't borrow trouble, _she told herself sleepily, beginning the cautious process of disentangling herself from Severus to take advantage of the bathroom being unoccupied.

By the time she had finished her quick shower she had identified the main reason she felt tired, which also probably explained her less than cheerful attitude this morning – she was always moody the first day, and for some utterly insane and very annoying reason none of the many skilled female Healers over the centuries seemed to have worked out anything that helped with cramps. _You'd think that's the first thing any witch would do, wouldn't you?_

She stood on the landing for a moment and listened; the boys were still snoring, and she wasn't in the mood to go and start breakfast anyway. In fact, she felt like going back to bed; obviously this month was going to be particularly bad, which was just bloody typical really.

Yes, she decided a few moments later, going back to bed definitely seemed like a good idea; she looked at Severus, who in her absence had curled into a ball and snuggled deeper into the hollow in the centre of the mattress, and smiled. He really did look adorable when he was asleep, which was an observation she knew he would absolutely hate. Deciding reluctantly not to give him the wrong idea by sliding back into bed with him, she crossed the room in search of her comb instead and began laboriously tackling her wet hair.

Shortly afterwards, Severus announced his return to the world of the living by attempting to stretch and roll over, which resulted in a low groan. Hermione paused and looked over at him sympathetically.

"Sore?"

He opened one eye. "No. Stiff. Christ, I can barely move," he muttered, stretching again and wincing as something clicked audibly. He cast a look at the bedroom door, obviously debating the merits of a hot shower versus the effort that would be needed to get there, and clearly decided it wasn't worth it, closing his eyes again.

"Does that happen every time?"

"No," he mumbled, still not really awake. Stifling a yawn, he made an effort to explain. "The Cruciatus pain usually makes my back and joints ache, but I can still move. This doesn't really hurt now, but I've seized up."

"Poor you," she told him, not particularly sympathetically. He ignored her, which was probably just as well, cautiously sitting up, swinging his legs out of bed and starting to try and work the kinks out of his back and limbs. Feeling vaguely guilty, she put her comb down and stood up, crossing the room to him and moving to sit on the bed behind him. "Here, let me help."

While nowhere near a trained masseuse, by now she knew enough anatomy to have a vague idea of where the worst spots would be, and in fact as she started gently rubbing his shoulders she could almost feel the knotted muscles; experimentally digging her fingertips into the worst places gently, she heard him groan softly and felt him lean back against her, and grinned, pushing lightly at him. "I can't reach if you do that, silly. Sit up."

Responding with a sound closer to a purr than anything she had ever heard from anyone who wasn't Crookshanks, he obeyed. "You really are a woman of many talents," he mumbled, already beginning to relax. "Oh, that's good, just there..."

Biting back a laugh, Hermione concentrated on the muscles between his neck and shoulder on the left hand side obediently, kneading briefly with her thumbs and feeling him arch slightly just like a cat being stroked before she started moving further down his back, absently tracing the rough slickness of all his scars at the same time. She rarely paid much attention any more; they were just another part of him. As he relaxed further she moved closer, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against the warmth of his back, just enjoying being close to him as her fingertips found another scar on his stomach and idly began following it downwards.

Severus made a faint humming sound of approval, leaning back against her, and she smiled, letting her other hand trail upwards over his ribs and across the sparse hair on his chest until her fingertips could lightly circle one of his nipples; she had found out over the recent weeks that he was more sensitive there than she had thought a man would be. He responded with another pleased humming sound, as her hand moved lower still and brushed against the head of his erection.

"Massage or not, I'm still not terribly mobile this morning," he said softly after a moment.

"I can tell," she replied, suppressing a smile – he'd have already twisted around to pin her down and kiss her senseless if he was his normal self. Shrugging, she added quietly, "I'm cramping anyway." She remembered that last month she had been worried about his reaction; they hadn't been together very long and could barely keep their hands off each other – still something of a problem, admittedly, albeit quite a nice problem – but when she had said 'no' Severus had stopped instantly and apparently without taking offense and hadn't seemed to require her somewhat embarrassed explanation.

"Ah." He started to sit up and she gently tightened her arms around him.

"No reason to spoil your fun," she murmured.

After a moment Severus said carefully, "It's not compulsory, you know."

Smiling at his tone – _foolish man_ – she slid her hand a little lower, brushing against a little more of him. "Are you about to try and tell me you're not interested?" she asked dryly, kissing the back of his shoulder. "Shut up, Severus," she recommended as he drew a breath to say something else, and he did as he was told.

Closing her eyes, Hermione concentrated on her sense of touch, gently curling her fingers around the solid warmth of him; she had touched him before, of course, but only fairly briefly. Now she took the chance to explore in more detail, listening to his breath hitch as she stroked him and feeling him lean back and arch slightly into her hand. He felt so alive under her hand, warm and vital and so hard she could feel his pulse.

While she was trying to think of a non-embarrassing way to ask if she was doing it right – although he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself – Severus once again demonstrated his ability to read her mind, reaching down to gently lay his hand over hers, subtly guiding her without making her feel like a total idiot in need of step-by-step instruction. Following his touch she tightened her grip a little, squeezing gently, settling into a rhythm as his breathing grew heavier before he turned his head, reaching up with his free hand to touch her face. It was pretty awkward trying to kiss at this angle, but as she slipped her tongue into his mouth it seemed neither of them cared very much.

Reaching down between his thighs with her other hand, she gently cupped him in her palm, feeling how delicate the skin was here, soft and unmarked. He sighed into her mouth, his hand tightening on hers as he wordlessly encouraged her to increase the pace and the pressure, starting to breathe more quickly as he drew closer before he broke the kiss and groaned thickly, arching back against her. She could feel him about to climax, she realised absently as she nuzzled his shoulder, feeling him tighten and contract in her hand as a shudder ran through his body. A moment later he gasped softly and his hips bucked slightly before he cried out as his head fell back against her shoulder, and she felt him pulsing in her hand as he came, shivering.

Once he had cleaned up, he gave her a soft-eyed smile and asked mildly, "What was that in aid of? Not that I'm not appreciative, but..."

Shrugging, she smiled at him. "Nothing in particular. I just wanted to." It had been nice to actively pleasure him for once – glorious though their lovemaking was, she knew she still had a hell of a lot to learn, and he was usually the one doing all the work. Leaning in, she kissed him lightly on the lips. "If you want a shower before the boys wake up, you should go now."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until after breakfast that Dumbledore finally responded. Silvery light burst into the kitchen, nearly scaring them all half to death and causing Severus to unleash a startled flare of wandless magic that left a scorch mark on the opposite wall before it swirled into a recognisable Patronus, shaped like a phoenix. Hermione had never seen the Headmaster's Patronus, but it wasn't difficult to identify even before it spoke.<p>

"_Remus has passed on your message, Severus. I have prepared memories that tell you everything, but I will not send them until Nagini has been eliminated. Should something happen to me before then, Minerva has been instructed to send them to you._"

That was the end of the message. Hermione glanced at the boys as the phoenix faded, before the three of them looked rather nervously at Severus; he had been in a good mood earlier, unsurprisingly perhaps, but there was no sign of it now. His black eyes were hard and cold and angry and his expression was visibly darkening before he growled, "You stupid old bastard, what the fuck are you playing at now?" Shaking his head, he added, "You'd think being near death would be enough to stop him acting like such a fucking child, wouldn't you."

"That's not really fair," Harry objected. "I know he's treated you pretty badly, but he's always been fair to us."

"What? No, he hasn't," Severus said, giving him a slightly startled look. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. He's been lying to you and manipulating you from the moment you stepped off the train."

"Rubbish," he retorted, and received a hollow laugh in reply.

"You think so, do you? Don't tell me you're actually thick enough to believe that we'd carelessly leave the Philosopher's Stone protected only by a few flimsy obstacles that three pre-teens could walk through with barely a scratch, if we thought a minion of the Dark Lord really stood a chance of getting at it. Dumbledore planned that as a test for you _years _in advance. He wanted to see what the _Chosen One _was really made of," Severus said scathingly. "All his plots go back years, if not decades. Now he's not in control any more, so he's throwing a tantrum and refusing to play by anyone else's rules."

Harry had gone pale. "That's not true..." he protested weakly.

"Yes it is. You know it, and unless I am very much mistaken you have suspected it for a long time. Think of everything you've endured since starting school, and then think of everything you know about Dumbledore. Do you really think most of it could have happened if he didn't want it to?" Severus shook his head, more wearily than angrily now. "This is pointless. Whatever he's up to now doesn't involve us and we have work to do."

"More sitting around researching," Ron grumbled. He was clearly trying to change the subject and defuse the situation a bit, but if anything it made Harry look more annoyed, not less.

"More like sitting around getting nowhere. At least Dumbledore _has _a plan, even if you don't like it."

"I doubt it. He never planned this far. And I told you from the start that I don't have a plan, Potter. I've been honest with you, which believe me is not easy. Might I remind you that since the end of June we have found and destroyed three Horcruxes? What else do you want from me?"

Hermione bit her lip; Severus was truly angry now. This wasn't a brief flash of moodiness or an impatient snarl but real, cold anger; his eyes looked like chips of polished obsidian, black and hard and glittering coldly, and his expression was stony save for the vein showing at his temple that was a clear warning that his control was almost gone.

Harry snapped back, his voice rising, "I want to go and actually _do _something, instead of sitting around this crappy house because 'it's too dangerous to leave' unless you're there. Yesterday was the first time we'd done anything in _months _and I'm sick of this place!"

Severus' expression had locked into rigid lines. "Then go," he said coldly in a very quiet voice. "But if you do, you won't be coming back. You made your choice, Potter. I told you what I knew and what I had planned, and you chose to accept that. If you change your mind now, I will _not _give you another chance."

"That's not what Harry meant," Ron said hastily. "He's right that we've not been out and done anything much since we left school, that's all. Now we're near the end, and it's time we got it over with, isn't it?"

"All right, fine," Severus snapped; he sounded a little less cold, but still just as angry. "There's the Floo, and there's the door. Off you go. Where did you plan on going? If you know where the final Horcrux is, by all means, trot off and fetch it, but I'm _fascinated _to hear why you haven't enlightened the rest of us yet."

There was a short pause that slowly stretched out into a long and very uncomfortable silence, as Harry and Ron remembered that the reason they hadn't done anything for so long was that there hadn't been anything they _could _do and realised that they didn't have the faintest idea where to go from here.

Severus' lip curled into an all too familiar sneer as the silence deepened. "Then shut up."

Hermione kicked him under the table, landing a solid blow right in the middle of his shin just below the point that would probably have knocked his knee out of place. It was time he stopped taking his bad mood out on the rest of them, no matter how understandable it was. He glared at her, but didn't protest; she could tell from the look in his eyes that he knew he was being unreasonable right now. It was quite a familiar expression.

Working his jaw for a moment, he continued speaking in a marginally less hostile voice, directing his glare at his coffee mug instead. "Whatever you think of me, Potter, I have never lied to you. If I knew what to do from here we would already be doing it. I assure you, I do not particularly want to linger here with you two as houseguests any more than you want to be here, and believe me when I tell you I am far more 'sick of this place' than you could possibly imagine."

After quite a long pause, Harry nodded, staring at the table. "I'm sorry. I just – want this to be over."

"How do you think the rest of us feel?" Severus asked quietly, still not looking at him. "I've been doing this for most of my bloody life, Potter. Until recently, it's _been _my life."

In what was becoming his usual role, Ron spoke up to try and change the subject. "Would Dumbledore be more willing to talk to Harry, d'you think? Maybe if Harry went to see him..."

"That's not a bad idea," Hermione agreed quickly.

Severus frowned, transferring his gaze from his coffee to the wall. "I don't know. A year ago I would have said yes, but... whatever the circumstances, Potter, you picked me over him. Albus Dumbledore doesn't deal well with things like that. He needs to feel popular and he needs to feel in charge. I doubt he trusts you any more, because he's never fully trusted me."

"Why not?" Ron asked, frowning. "I mean, he's always said he trusts you, and he's always seemed to most of the time, but it's always seemed weird that you weren't told what was going on, when Hermione asked us if she should tell you." He smiled sheepishly. "We've always hated you, but even Harry admits you're on our team now."

"Very generous of you, Weasley," Severus said dryly. "Dumbledore doesn't trust me for the simple reason that he doesn't understand my motivation for doing what I do. He knows I originally changed sides in exchange for his promise to protect the Potters; that made sense to him. He doesn't understand why I stayed on the Order's side after that agreement was broken; he knows how much I dislike you," he added, glancing briefly at Harry with a slight smirk, before shrugging.

"Dumbledore doesn't believe that I have a conscience, you see. His Gryffindors are obviously on the right side because they're opposed to evil; even the odd Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff is capable of that. But he doesn't believe I would ever do something simply because it is the right thing to do, and he doesn't understand my view of my former master, and he doesn't know about Hermione either. He doesn't know why I joined the Death Eaters in the first place, so he can't understand why I haven't gone back to them. He can't work me out, you see, so he remains suspicious no matter what he says publicly."

"Is there any point in us asking why?" Harry asked, starting to look more amused than angry now.

"None whatsoever," Severus replied blandly, leaning back in his chair. "Anyway, if you want to visit Headquarters and ask, you can, but I very much doubt he will tell you anything. Apart from anything else, he will want to punish you for not staying with him." He glanced at Harry and sighed. "Stop looking like I just kicked your puppy down the stairs. I'm not trying to destroy your hero-worship of him. But try to understand, Potter – your relationship with Dumbledore is _extremely _unusual. He's never formed that sort of bond with any student, to my knowledge. He is generally friendly with most of the more outgoing Gryffindors, but by and large he ignores everyone else. You cannot judge him solely by the way he interacts with you, especially when he has kept so much from you for so long." He held up a hand. "Don't start questioning me. I know as much as you do now."

"So what do we actually do now?" Ron asked.

Severus shrugged. "At this point, Weasley, your guess is as good as mine. We need some way of finding out where Nagini is. Bugger off and think about it, the pair of you, and find something to do so we don't end up having this argument every single day, because it's likely to take a while."

Harry and Ron buggered off obediently, at least as far as the living room, where they started arguing about the television again. Left alone, Hermione looked at her lover. "What is it you know about Dumbledore that you aren't telling us?" she asked quietly.

"Many, many things," he replied distantly. "I'm not going to tell you, though. His secrets aren't really mine to tell, and I only made the effort to find out in case I ever needed it. It's tempting to tell you just to spite the old bastard, but I'd like to think I was slightly better than that." He exhaled heavily and looked at her. "If you're waiting for me to apologise for my temper, you're in for a long wait," he added coolly.

"I'm not daft, Severus," she told him dryly. "I'm frustrated at not having anything to do as well, but we've done so much more than I thought we'd ever manage. I can't imagine how we'd have tried to do any of this on our own. I just wish you'd talk to me more, instead of holding it all in until you snap, that's all."

There was a long silence. "Gringotts was as far as I could plan," he told her finally. "I haven't got any idea what we do now; I don't know where to go from here and I hate flying blind. And I am now seriously worried about whatever Dumbledore is refusing to tell me; he is hoping that he'll die before I find out, that much is obvious now, which means it is something much worse than any of the nightmares I have been imagining already. I don't know what to do next."

He sighed and looked at her, his eyes guarded. "I am trying, Hermione, I really am, but I'm not used to being able to talk to anyone. I keep forgetting that I can say how I'm feeling without it being used against me. I do know what I'm like, but I'm not sure how to be any different. I've never had a choice before."

She laid her hand over his on the table. "I know, Severus. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty and I don't want you to change who you are. But I'm not convinced that this _is_ who you are. So much of the way you act is a result of the way you were forced to grow up, I think, and the way you've been treated for so long. I don't think you've ever been able to be yourself. I know you hate having to be in charge of all this, and I know you're still really not comfortable with Harry, and I know this thing with us is as confusing to you as it is to me. Just remember that anger isn't your only safe option any more, please, and that you don't have to do everything alone any more. That's all I ask." Squeezing his fingers, she smiled at him before standing and going to join the boys, leaving him staring after her pensively.

* * *

><p>Severus was well aware that he was far, far luckier than he deserved. He knew damned well that one of the many, many reasons he had been alone so long was that nobody else would put up with him. He was antisocial, undemonstrative, withdrawn, defensive, moody and often just plain unpleasant. Finding someone who was smart enough to know all that and yet somehow didn't care had really turned his world upside down; he'd never thought that was even remotely possible. He seldom dared use the word <em>love <em>even just inside his own head, but against all odds he was finally close to being certain that Hermione really did love him – the real him, which was really almost unbelievable. She knew him better than even Lily ever had; he hadn't held back and pretended, with her. She'd seen who he really was, every fucked-up, beaten-down inch of him, and she was still here. It was too much to take in, sometimes.

At the moment, he was waiting to find out why she'd been in such an odd mood for half the evening; he'd known her too long not to know when she was up to something. By his reckoning, her cycle was over for the next month, which had a pleasant sense of anticipation tingling through him anyway, but anticipation was starting to give way to puzzlement as he wondered idly just what was taking so long. Whatever it was, he had seen that she wasn't completely sure about it, before she'd barricaded herself in the bathroom.

Stretching out more comfortably on his half of the narrow bed, he watched the door through half-closed eyes, musing. The past few days had given him a great deal to think about. Surviving Gringotts more or less intact had been nothing short of a miracle – for all his posturing, Hermione had been dead right, it had mostly been a bluff and he was frankly amazed that it had worked. Dumbledore... well, he'd told her the truth, he was seriously frightened of whatever the old man wasn't saying, but there was absolutely nothing to be done about it yet. And he didn't have the faintest idea of how to go about locating that bloody snake. Instead, his thoughts had mostly been preoccupied with assessing his own attitude, following what Hermione had said to him in the kitchen earlier in the week. Nearly forty years of being walled up inside his own head had left deep scars that it would take time to overcome, and he was extremely thankful that she realised that...

His thoughts were derailed rather abruptly when Hermione finally reappeared, closing the bedroom door behind her before turning to face him with her lower lip caught firmly between her teeth. That particular habit drove him absolutely crazy anyway, and somewhat to his dismay she'd started to realise it, but on this occasion she wasn't trying to tease; she looked extremely nervous, if he was any judge, and he was about to ask why when she took a deep breath and slowly shrugged out of her dressing gown.

_Oh, my God. _Severus stared, truly speechless for one of the few times in his life, as his mouth went dry and his heartbeat accelerated dramatically. She was wearing... well, he didn't actually know what most of it was called; he wasn't really an expert on lingerie. Whatever it was, it was very sheer silk, a rich warm shade of dark burgundy that looked very good indeed against her skin, and it was thin enough that he could see very clearly that she wore nothing else under it. Her nipples and the dark thatch of hair between her legs stood out, drawing his eyes down her body; the silk finished in a fringe just brushing her thighs, giving him a glimpse of creamy skin that led down to lace-topped stockings.

Very slowly he looked back up towards her face, trying not to drool too obviously. It wasn't exactly the way she looked – it did look wonderful, but he'd never needed it, and she really didn't have the confidence to make it as seductive as it deserved to be. What really had his pulse racing and his body stiffening was the fact that she'd done this to try and impress him, that she'd clearly gone to a hell of a lot of effort for him. The idea that she thought he was worth it was yet another confusing new experience, and one he was eager to explore in more detail.

He had no idea what his expression looked like at the moment, but it made her blush. The silk partially concealed it, but he'd seen her blush while naked often enough to know how far it went. Embarrassed or not, she smiled at him; it was shy and uncertain, but under that was a hint of promise that took his breath away. Swallowing, he licked his lips, trying and failing to think of something to say; deciding that words weren't really necessary right now, he settled for smiling back at her without shielding, letting her see the emotions swirling around his head, before shifting over on the bed in silent invitation.

Caressing her body through the flimsy silk, trying to behave and refrain from ripping the pretty thing to pieces in his eagerness, Severus wondered briefly why she'd done this. It really wasn't necessary; surely by now she had realised that he was utterly addicted to her no matter what she was wearing. He had never known anything approaching this level of mindless physical obsession, as he kissed her neck and nipped gently at the sensitive spot under her jaw while his hand explored the curve of her breast through the satiny fabric. Recently his fingers had been itching with the urge to paint again; he'd been sketching for most of his life, but he hadn't actually painted anything in many years. This was surely art, he decided absently, the dim light from the street lamp outside highlighting and shadowing the curves of her body and catching in the glorious tangles of her hair.

His mouth moved lower, finding the line of the scar on her chest as his hand moved elsewhere, searching for the tie that held the garment together before he really did rip it. Lovely though it was, right now he would definitely prefer it if she wasn't wearing it. He was vaguely aware that she was working his trousers down over his almost painful erection, but it was a distant sensation, and not really very important; all his focus was on her, filling his senses and driving him slowly insane as rational thought slowly drained away.

As always, he was unable to focus and remain coherent, and there were only brief flashes of clear recall. Her breasts heaving when he finally got the damned silk out of the way without tearing it. The taste of her mouth when she took control of their kiss, her tongue sliding against his before he caught her lower lip gently between his teeth and felt her shudder. His breath freezing in his lungs when she touched him and wrapped her hand around him. A moment's amusement when she nearly made him purr by nibbling his earlobe; he hadn't even known that was an erogenous zone for him – regardless of her worries, he had as much to learn as she did, in some ways. The thick sweet scent of her arousal and the glorious view between her spread legs, framed very nicely indeed by the stockings he'd been too impatient to remove. The way she tasted, as her hips arched and her fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair, and another brief flicker of amusement as he remembered how puzzled he'd been in his early twenties to discover that apparently he wasn't supposed to enjoy pleasuring a woman like this, before he concentrated on making her cry out.

He regained a little clarity afterwards as he crawled back up her body, pausing to kiss or lick any bit of skin that struck his fancy, enjoying her last little shivers as she relaxed beneath him. She gasped softly in his ear when he entered her, and he felt the sweet little sting of her nails in his shoulders and back as he kissed her deeply before starting to move. Looking down at her, Severus felt the same sense of wonder that he had felt during their first time, and every time since then; he truly didn't understand why she was with him. He didn't deserve her. Her brown eyes were hazy with pleasure, but no matter how strong the desire or the ecstasy it didn't hide the fierce, formidable intellect and power that had simultaneously infuriated and reluctantly impressed him over the years; his thin, battered frame pressed against her curves as her hands slid down his horribly scarred back and she wrapped her legs around his bony hips, moving in time to every thrust. What on earth was she doing with someone like him?

Closing her eyes, she arched her back beneath him and moaned, a long drawn-out sound that held the syllables of his name somewhere in it. He could feel her tightening and pulsing around him, her nails digging into his buttocks as her orgasm took her; only then did he let himself become aware of the mounting pressure in his groin and the building fire in his blood, listening to his own heavy breathing as he held on for just a few moments longer before thrusting into her one last time.

As he came, crying out and shuddering with the force of his pleasure, Severus wondered yet again if he'd ever find the courage to tell her what she really meant to him.

* * *

><p><em>Well, <em>Hermione thought somewhat dazedly, _that seemed to go quite well. _She hadn't quite known how Severus was going to react to her rather woeful attempt at seduction, but at least he hadn't started laughing, which she had half-feared. In fact... she smiled a little smugly to herself... in fact he had reacted – really rather well. All the same, she hadn't been so nervous in her life, at least not without the comforting help of adrenaline to get her through it; even their first time hadn't made her feel quite so unsure of herself. But the look on his face when he'd seen what she was wearing... yes, she could feel a bit pleased with herself, she decided happily as she caught her breath.

Vaguely she became aware of his fingertips trailing lightly along the top of one of the stockings; she'd have to take them off soon. Evidently Severus had recovered himself enough to be curious; a few moments later his deep voice murmured, "I never quite pictured you as the lingerie type, somehow."

Hermione smiled ruefully, appreciating that he very carefully wasn't saying why that was. She knew that little show would have been a lot more convincing if she'd had any experience at all of making herself look sexy; she'd been standing wrong, she hadn't been able to walk the way she wanted to, little things like that. "I don't think I am, really," she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder and relaxing. "It was... a bit of an experiment."

His soft growling chuckle made her smile. "By all means, feel free to experiment further. What was the source of this particular experiment, though?" he asked.

She laughed softly, nestling closer. "You'll never guess in a thousand years."

"Oh?"

"Dilys."

He choked. "What – _Dilys _told you to wear lingerie?"

Trying to stop laughing long enough to explain, she replied, "You told her to help me with my confidence issues."

"Yes, but I didn't mean – that! What on earth...?"

"She didn't specifically tell me to dress up like that. And – I was about to say it wasn't aimed at you, but actually, knowing her, it probably was," she admitted, lifting her head to give him a wry smile. "No, she spent quite a long time making me alter my clothes and so on, in lots of little ways. I thought it was rubbish at first, but actually it did start making me feel better about myself. She did suggest I start experimenting with my underwear, but I thought that was a bit much."

"I did wonder what she was up to," Severus mused, still sounding a little startled. "I couldn't work out what she'd done."

"No, she told me. She thought it was funny."

"She would." He paused, then added in a rather distant tone, "I think I'm glad I didn't know. Teaching you was difficult enough as it was, without starting to speculate..."

Grinning, Hermione decided not to pursue that line of enquiry just now; she did desperately want to know, but it would probably embarrass him, and she didn't want to push her luck. Better to just snuggle closer and enjoy her success, and start thinking of ways to find out what he might like to see her wearing next time she found the courage.

* * *

><p>September dragged on, for the most part grey and raining and rather unchanging. The boys were suffering most, especially Harry; Ron was quite happy to watch the television most of the time, finding it almost hypnotic and absolutely fascinating no matter what was on, but Harry needed something more to occupy his mind. He seemed to be spending most of his time writing to Ginny, when he wasn't sulking about the inactivity or trying not to brood or dwelling on the latest crap being spewed out by the <em>Daily Prophet.<em>

Hermione was trying to be sympathetic, and trying not to totally neglect her friends, but it was difficult when she was so preoccupied with the very slow process of getting to know Severus better. They didn't talk much; she had realised very early on that his social skills really were non-existent and he showed no sign of wanting to or being able to start a conversation, and she didn't really feel able to question him too closely yet. By now she had puzzled out most of his early life; she would like to ask him about his parents in more detail, but he had told her after another nightmare that he wasn't ready to talk about that yet. She had decided probably her best strategy was to volunteer stories from her own life every so often and judge from his reaction whether to continue the conversation or not.

Mostly, she was happy just watching him learning to relax around her and starting to just be himself. The more casual clothing was a good indication of his progress, although he seldom let them see that side of him. She was starting to get an idea of his favourite foods or preferred television programs, building a more solid picture of him. And she had already known about most of his hobbies – in fact, she was working on that knowledge now, as she stood on the landing and listened to him singing softly to himself before venturing to stand in the bedroom doorway. He was mending the window catch and had started singing along to the distant strains of the radio from the kitchen some time ago; it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to get this close.

His voice had sounded nice enough through a thick stone wall. Away from the dungeons, it was something else entirely; she was absolutely spellbound, and if the boys dared to interrupt she was going to hex them both. She couldn't understand why he was so self-conscious about this part of his life, but he had seemed genuinely embarrassed and uneasy when she had told him she'd overheard him before. She had two possible theories; either he had at one point had this turned against him just like everything else and been publicly humiliated over it, or – which was the more likely explanation – he was simply so used to keeping everything to himself that the idea of doing anything different was foreign enough to seriously worry him and he had by now blown it up out of all proportion.

The current song was 'Everybody Wants To Rule The World', by Tears for Fears – not one of her favourites, but it was a classic for a reason, and frankly she could listen to him singing absolutely anything. She knew the exact moment when Severus finally paid attention to his surroundings and realised that she was listening, because his voice wavered and cracked audibly as he faltered and his shoulders tensed. To her surprise, after drawing an unsteady breath, he kept singing, picking up the next line with only a slight stumble, although his voice was quieter now and less sure.

Hermione truly hadn't expected that, and she had to smile. Whenever she started feeling a bit insecure about how vague and undefined their relationship was and started fretting about where it was going, Severus managed to do or say something to reassure her about how much he was trying to make this work, although she was – almost – certain that it wasn't deliberate. She had spent years thinking about all his problems, after all; she hadn't gone into this blindly. He really was trying, and that was good enough. As the song came to an end, he turned his head just enough to glance uncertainly at her through the curtains of his hair; smiling at him, she crossed the worn carpet and stood on tiptoe to brush his hair out of the way and kiss him, before turning and leaving the room once more without saying anything.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Important: <strong>__I am about to start working again. Yes, I actually have a job, although only until April/May. __It's hellishly long hours so I won't have much free time or energy for the foreseeable future, so I will be dropping my updates to around one chapter a week, although not on certain days or anything. Please don't panic and/or harrass me if I'm later than that with a chapter occasionally. I spoil you lot rotten with super-regular updates as it is! I promise I'm not going to vanish for months. This story will be finished in a reasonably timely fashion. And there will be updates on my profile to let you know I'm still around.  
><em>

_Now, take a look at some pretty fan art from **shamandaliewolf:**_ shamandaliewolf dot deviantart dot com /art/Safe-and-Sound-284883628

_PTL is featured in the quiz_sshg community on livejournal again this week_, _too._


	42. Chapter 42

_We're getting very close to the 4000th review, so keep your eyes peeled, folks. Now, this chapter should be a lot of fun...  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"And sometimes when we touch<br>The honesty's too much  
>And I have to close my eyes and hide<br>I want to hold you 'til I die  
>Until we both break down and cry<br>I want to hold you 'til the fear in me subsides."**  
>– Dan Hill, 'Sometimes When We Touch'.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione was awake first on the morning of September 19th, snuggling closer against Severus and listening to his quiet snores as she mused about her birthday. She'd come of age in the Muggle world as well as the wizarding today, but it didn't really feel much different; she acknowledged to herself that the Muggle world wasn't her home any more, and hadn't been since she was eleven. Her thoughts turned to her parents; they had no way of knowing anything that had happened, only that she was alive and unwounded, and would probably have written to Hogwarts again. She assumed the letter would be in the Hogsmeade post office somewhere.<p>

She smiled to herself a little wryly; once the war was done, she was going to have to explain that she was currently... well, whatever she was doing... with one of her teachers. As relationships went, it wasn't very easy to categorise. She knew how she felt about Severus, and had done for a long time now, but his feelings were more complicated; she knew there was more to this than sex, but how much more remained to be seen. She was reasonably sure that he felt something very much like love, but it would be nice to get some sort of confirmation – it would also be easier to explain to her parents, although she was pretty certain that her mother had seen it coming by that mysterious instinct that mothers have and probably wouldn't be that surprised.

Settling deeper into the bed, she wondered how much longer the war would last. There was only one Horcrux left; as soon as they worked out how to kill Nagini from a distance or found out where she was being kept, Voldemort would be mortal, and could be killed. Then... then what would happen? She assumed that they weren't going to be involved too much in the post-war cleanup; that would be for the Order and the Ministry to sort out. Severus had said that Hogwarts would reopen and had seemed adamant that she should go back and take her NEWTs, which sounded good to her; he seemed equally adamant that he wasn't going to go back, which she supposed made sense but did leave her wondering. As for what she wanted to do after school, she didn't have the faintest idea – but she was at least certain that she wanted him there.

Pushing away difficult thoughts, she focused on the more immediate future, namely the birthday party awaiting her at Headquarters. Needless to say, it hadn't been her idea. It wouldn't be a huge celebration as Harry's had been, but Mrs Weasley had insisted they visit for a meal, since she had missed that last gathering. She did want to see everyone again, of course she did, but... not for very long. Only she couldn't think of any way she could tell everyone that actually she would rather be here in Professor Snape's depressing house with him, and she suspected she wasn't going to be allowed to make excuses not to stay very long. Sighing a little ruefully, she looked at the clock; almost time to get up, if she wanted to shower before they left. She wasn't going to get any time with Severus at all today, it seemed, since she was unhappily certain that the party was going to go on for a very long time and would probably last well into the night.

Once she had left the room, Severus stopped snoring and cracked open one eye, listening intently until he heard the plumbing creak to life before sliding out of bed. He had his own plans for today.

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't completely sure of what was going on at the moment. Partly that was because she had never had champagne before and it had gone straight to her head, but mostly because there really was something going on. The Weasleys, and Harry, were the only ones present; Hagrid, Tonks and Lupin were all busy elsewhere, and Poppy and Professor McGonagall had dropped by briefly earlier to wish her a happy birthday. Dumbledore had not, and was apparently still sulking according to Phineas' portrait – the Slytherin had appeared shortly after the party had started and was unofficially commentating, as well as passing on best wishes from Dilys. Right now, the house seemed to be in chaos, and Hermione couldn't quite manage to puzzle out what was going on.<p>

"I believe young Mr Weasley and Mr Potter have managed to arrange a birthday present for you," Phineas reported from his frame. "Namely, they have caused enough trouble that nobody will notice you slipping away; which logically leads me to assume that you have a reason to wish to slip away, especially given the notable absence of a certain Order member."

"I know Slytherins love speaking in riddles, but this conversation would have been a lot quicker if you'd just asked me directly," she retorted, "especially since I'm sure that's what Dilys ordered you to do."

He looked faintly amused. "Well?"

Hermione grinned at the portrait. "Yes, I have a reason to wish to slip away." She was glad it was Phineas and not Dilys; the witch would be able to embarrass her _very_ quickly, although despite that she did miss the other portrait.

"Ha. It's about time. Did you start it, or did he finally find the courage to make a move?"

"...No comment."

He snorted. "There's no accounting for taste. How long?"

"Since Harry's birthday."

"It took you that long? Really?"

Half-heartedly glaring at the portrait, she replied dryly, "Well, we did have a few other things on our minds. Plus Harry and Ron clomping around getting in the way and interrupting."

"You left him unable to think of locking and silencing charms?" Phineas shot back, smirking. "Impressive."

"You're so funny."

"So how many times have you had a stupid misunderstanding causing him to storm off in a fit of temper?"

"Actually, none," Hermione replied thoughtfully, and Phineas blinked at her.

"Really?" he asked, doubtfully. "That doesn't sound like Severus, I have to say."

"Oh, we've rowed a bit. All four of us have, stuck inside with not much to do. But..." She could feel the smile crossing her face. "He's been trying so hard, it's adorable. There hasn't been anything major."

The portrait gave her a very long, measuring look. "I hope you appreciate what that must have cost him, Granger," he said softly.

Her smile faded, and she nodded. "Yes. It's getting easier, though. He's learning to relax, a bit."

Phineas nodded and continued in a lighter tone, "As you might expect, Dilys has given me a long list of questions. I don't intend going through the whole lot, especially since you would clearly rather be elsewhere, but I would appreciate a quick summary before you dash off, to make my life easier. She's been unbearable since the school closed; her only other portrait provides a rather bleak and depressing view of St Mungo's and she cannot stand being so out of touch."

"A summary of what?" she asked somewhat fuzzily.

He rolled his eyes. "You don't want to know, frankly. I never intended to ask some of the questions she wanted answers to. The ones I have been commanded to find out in particular, though..." He cocked his head and looked at her steadily. "Are you pregnant?"

"What? No!"

"No need to sound so shocked," he told her huffily. "Do you plan to be?"

"I've only been eighteen for about sixteen hours, Phineas. I think it's a bit early to be thinking about that."

"So you haven't discussed it with him, then?"

She sighed. "No. We've not talked about anything that personal yet. It's difficult, with everything else going on. By the way, do you know what Dumbledore's refusing to tell us?" she added, changing the subject with a Gryffindorish lack of subtlety.

The portrait looked awkward. "Some of it, yes. I can understand Dumbledore's position... I'd certainly want to be safely dead before Severus finds out. He isn't going to react well. But Dumbledore should have told all of you last year, frankly."

"And you can't tell me now."

"No, and I wouldn't if I could, not this time. It has to come from him. But..." He hesitated and shook his head. "You spoke to Poppy earlier. Did she mention Dumbledore?"

"No." Hermione bit her lip. "How is he?"

"...Not good, truthfully. I don't think he has very long left. I was telling the truth earlier, he is sulking, but he is also ill, Granger. If Potter wants to say his goodbyes, I'd do it within the next week or two. And warn Severus – we don't know if the Vow is still in force or not." He hesitated, about to say something else, then shook his head.

"What?"

"...Even if the Vow isn't in force, perhaps Severus should visit anyway, before the end." Phineas sighed. "It's not going to be pretty, Granger. Half the reason for Dumbledore's plan was that he wanted a clean death. Nobody else here is capable of it. Poppy's a paediatrician, she was never trained to deal with a situation like that, and you're still only an apprentice, and the only other one in the Order who might have been able to do it was Mad-Eye Moody."

"You really want me to go home and tell Severus he's going to have to commit murder anyway, Phineas? Thanks for the birthday present."

"I don't care if you're drunk, don't sulk. Of course I don't want you to. And I don't know if he can do it, or if he'd want to – I wouldn't blame him for choosing to leave the old man to die slowly, after everything that's happened to him. Just tell him at some point that it's going to be messy and let him make up his own mind." The portrait shrugged and smirked. "Not today, though. If I know anything about the way Severus thinks, he's awaiting your return quite eagerly. If I were you, I would depart in the next five minutes or so. I imagine it will be several hours before anyone notices your absence, at which point they will feel horribly guilty for driving you away from your own party – because obviously you didn't have anything better to do and must therefore only have left out of unhappiness."

"Obviously," she agreed dryly, standing up and trying to shake off the champagne, pushing away what he'd said about Dumbledore – that could definitely wait until another time; right now she wanted to take advantage of the chance to sneak off back to Severus. It would have to be Apparition, because the only grate connected to the Floo was the one in the kitchen and someone would see her. "Can you keep Mrs Black quiet long enough for me to get out of the front door?"

"Yes. Enjoy yourself."

"I intend to," she muttered, heading for the stairs.

* * *

><p>It would be nice to see Severus; she hadn't even managed to get a birthday kiss this morning, only a rather distracted 'happy birthday' from somewhere behind a book while he tried to stay out of the way of Harry and Ron doing their 'where's my fill-in-the-blank-here' game as they tried to get ready on time. Letting herself through the door into Spinner's End, automatically shoving it where the damp made it stick, she felt the now familiar tingle as the wards parted to let her through and closed the door behind her. "Severus?"<p>

He laid his book aside and looked up when she came into the living room. "Hello."

"You don't seem all that surprised to see me," she noted, starting to smile. "Did you plan this?"

"No, although I did try to think of some way around it," he admitted candidly, his eyes glittering. "Weasley told me this morning he and Potter were going to try and cover your escape, but I admit I didn't expect them to actually manage it. How on earth did they distract everyone, and how long is it going to be before they come hunting for you?"

"I don't think there are going to be any search parties. Ron and the twins have caused enough chaos that everyone's going to think I stormed off in disgust and that I'm angry with them all."

"That wouldn't have fooled Molly..."

"No, but she's a little distracted going absolutely berserk because Harry and Ginny have disappeared."

Severus grinned at that, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Ah, I see. I hope you appreciate the noble sacrifice he's going through on your behalf."

She snorted. "That's pretty much what I said. I'm surprised the boys were willing to help, but apparently Ginny's been driving them all mad pining and I think they're hoping she'll be in a better mood now."

"And that's as far as I want to discuss this particular topic," he noted, rising to his feet and moving forward. "It worked, and that's really all I want to know." He gave her a slightly wry smile. "There's not much here, though. All the traditional romantic trappings – breakfast in bed, candlelit meals and so on – are a little redundant when Molly Weasley has had a few hours to mother you to death."

"God, yes. I won't want anything to eat for days. It was a nice thought, but I don't need any of that. You're here; that's enough."

He snorted. "How much have you had to drink?" Despite the flippant tone, his eyes had softened and he looked quite pleased.

"Funny. Are you just going to stand there, or am I finally going to get the birthday kiss I wanted this morning?"

His eyes glittered briefly. "Well, if you insist," he murmured, moving closer and opening his arms. Hermione stepped into his embrace happily, reaching up to twine her fingers into his hair and lifting her face for his kiss, closing her eyes and melting against him as their lips met. He was gentle at first, but apparently he had been thinking about her quite a lot today, since she could already feel his increasingly obvious arousal as his arms tightened and he deepened the kiss.

By the time they broke apart, she was a little breathless, smiling up at him. "You're eager today." Not that she was complaining. "Miss me?"

Severus made a noncommittal sound in response, stroking his fingers down her cheek and along her jaw. "It's your fault, you know."

"What, because I'm just that irresistible?" she laughed.

His expression was serious. "Yes," he replied, before leaning down to kiss her again. Caught up in the sheer hunger of his kiss, she responded, feeling her heart beginning to race with the now-familiar heat of desire as she moved her hips to feel his hardness pressing against her. He pulled back just long enough to murmur, "Happy birthday, Hermione," against her lips before deepening the kiss once more, his tongue sliding against hers.

When they broke apart to breathe again, she decided dizzily that maybe she was reacting more strongly to the champagne than she had realised; she also decided that if she didn't do something they were going to end up on the floor, which was fine except that there was no knowing when Harry and Ron would arrive and the boys had always had a knack for very unfortunate timing. It took until after some more seriously heated kissing before she managed to pull enough scattered brain cells together to speak, by which time he had pushed her against the wall and had his hand up her shirt as he ground his hips against hers.

"God, Severus," she gasped, all but clinging to him now. "I've been thinking about this all day. Please..."

For all that he was almost as breathless and eager as she was, apparently he still couldn't resist the urge to tease, raising an eyebrow at her. "Please, what, Hermione?" he asked in almost a purr.

"Don't be such a bastard," she protested helplessly. "You know what I want."

"I want to hear you say it," he growled in her ear, sending shivers down her spine and making her squirm against him.

"Severus..."

"Say it," he insisted, biting at her earlobe, sliding his hands down her back to her arse and grinding himself against her again.

"Oh, God," she whimpered, digging her fingers into his shoulders. Pulling back, she met his eyes, feeling herself blushing scarlet as she told him shakily, "I want you to – to fuck me." _Yes, I'm a lot drunker than I thought I was, _she told herself, caught between embarrassment and frantic lust as she watched his eyes beginning to burn and heard his low growl before he kissed her again, fiercely.

"That," he panted when he pulled back, "can be arranged." His mouth found hers again, and she felt her brain dissolving completely.

Barely clinging to the last remnants of sanity, she pushed weakly at him. "Upstairs, Severus," she managed breathlessly, shuddering as he moved to her neck.

He nipped at the sensitive bit where her neck and shoulder joined, his hand sliding further under her blouse, and growled something indistinct that was clearly a refusal. Pleased that she seemed to have rendered him speechless, she shuddered against him before reaching up to tug lightly at his hair. "Harry and Ron," she reminded him. All right, Harry wasn't likely to reappear before morning, but Ron probably would.

Severus lifted his head enough to glare at her, blinking and trying to clear his head, before muttering something that sounded like it was decidedly impolite, kissing her again before reluctantly disentangling himself from her.

How they made it up the narrow stairs without incident was a mystery. Neither of them was in any fit state to pay attention to where they were going, stumbling and barely catching themselves against the walls, already pulling at one another's clothes long before they reached the bedroom. She had no idea what had happened to his shirt, but he wasn't wearing it by the time he fell back onto the bed and dragged her down on top of him, thrusting his tongue into her mouth again as she struggled out of her blouse and ran her hands over his chest, pinching his nipple and drawing a sharp gasping moan from him that turned into a growl of pleasure.

Sitting up to shrug her blouse off her shoulders impatiently, Hermione shuddered at the feel of his erection straining against his trousers, shifting to straddle him properly and shamelessly grinding her hips down against him. He groaned and bucked his hips to push up against her in return, and the resulting friction felt unbelievably good even through their clothes. Biting her lip to hold back a moan, she almost writhed in his lap as he sat up, breathing hard, and wrenched at the clasp of her bra before impatiently tugging it away and tossing it somewhere over her shoulder.

Half out of her mind on a combination of lust and champagne, she cupped her breasts in her hands and offered them to him, drawing another growl from him. Lowering his head, he kissed the scar on her chest and ran his tongue along it before nuzzling at her cleavage, moving lower to take one erect nipple between his teeth and biting down very gently, his teeth scraping just hard enough for her to feel it. Whimpering, she ground against his erection again and heard him groan once more before his hands dug into her hips, wordlessly encouraging her to continue moving against him as he started licking and sucking.

The next few minutes were a little hazy as they tore at one another's remaining clothing almost desperately, gasping and shuddering and pushing against one another. She was pretty sure she'd torn a button off his trousers, and he chafed her skin a little as he yanked her knickers down, but it really didn't matter. If she knew a way to wandlessly remove clothing she would have done, although it was doubtful she could concentrate enough for any sort of magic. Finally he rolled on top of her, his weight pinning her down, staring down at her with such fire in his eyes that it took her remaining breath away.

Long past being embarrassed now, she reached up to push his hair back from his face, staring into his eyes; she had never wanted him so much, never wanted anything so desperately, and she ached for him more than she ever had before. "Fuck me, Severus," she breathed, arching her back and lifting her hips almost pleadingly. "I need you. Please, please..." He shuddered, and if anything the intensity in his eyes increased, before he did as she asked – he entered her with a single powerful thrust, hard enough to jolt her body up the bed, and she cried out as the ancient springs protested; then he began to move. It was hard and fast, almost brutal, rougher than it had ever been between them, and it felt so incredibly _good _as she cried out again and tried to match his rhythm.

She didn't scream his name when she climaxed, but only because she couldn't form the syllables; instead she just screamed in wordless pleasure, raking her nails down his back and bucking wildly beneath him as he drove into her one final time. Gasping and shaking in the aftermath, she blinked as the world came back into focus, and shivered as she saw the look in his eyes; clearly, he wasn't finished with her yet.

Leaning down, Severus kissed her briefly and bit gently at her neck before rolling off her, still hard. Drawing her with him, he wordlessly pulled her down on top of him, kissing her again before urging her to straddle him once more. Getting the idea, she managed to regain a little breath as she wriggled her hips against him, both of them shuddering at the almost agonising friction without any clothing in the way, before she sat up astride him and reached between them to wrap her hand around his slick length.

She hadn't been on top before, they had been too wrapped up in one another to spare much time for experimenting, and it took her a moment to find the right angle, carefully guiding him into position until she could remove her hand and sink down onto him. The last vestiges of her orgasm faded, her mind clearing a little as she started moving, slowly at first as she worked out which movements felt good and which movements got the best response from him. It felt deeper and more intense in this position, as his hands slid up her thighs to her hips and the pressure of his fingers subtly helped to guide her into a rhythm.

Gradually getting the hang of it, she began to ride him in earnest, letting her head fall back for a moment and moaning as her pleasure began to build again. His fingers dug into her hips briefly as he moved beneath her before he released his grip and his hands stroked along her arms until he could link his fingers through hers, squeezing gently as they moved together. Hermione looked down at him, at the lean wiry strength of his body stretched out beneath her, feeling his hips rise and fall to match the rhythm she was setting; she tightened certain inner muscles and watched him react. The feeling of power, of being in control of this man just for a little while, was dizzying. And from the look in his eyes when he opened them and stared up at her, he liked relinquishing control to her, even if only briefly.

He bent his knees, bringing his legs up behind her to add a little support, his eyes boring into hers with fierce intensity as she found just the right angle to feel him grinding against what felt like every nerve ending in her body. Tightening her grip on his hands as though for support, she shivered, right on the edge as he thrust up into her again. "Severus..." she groaned, rocking against him, before her hips jerked as the first tremors of her orgasm took her and she cried out, throwing her head back. Distantly in the midst of her pleasure she heard his voice as he cried out her name in answer, his hands tightening on hers and his hips bucking beneath her as he came at last.

Blinking sweat out of her eyes, Hermione leaned forward slowly and lowered herself onto his chest, unable to even think of moving just yet and too breathless even to kiss him. She could feel his ribs rising and falling under her as he panted and his body softening inside her as he let go of her hands and half-heartedly draped an arm over her. Resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes, she exhaled shakily. "...Wow."

"Yes," he agreed unsteadily, his heavy breathing stuttering for a moment in a vague attempt at a laugh. "Wow, indeed."

"Should I move?"

"No."

They lay quietly for a little while, regaining their breath and cooling down. His hand stroked down her spine gently, his touch no longer sexual, his fingers tracing lightly over the curve of her hip. "I am sorry if I got carried away."

She half-laughed and nuzzled against his neck, tasting the salt on his skin. "We both did. You didn't really hurt me; it was what I wanted. And it was fantastic." Now that she could think straight, she did ache a bit, but she wasn't truly sore and it had been well worth it in any case. Finally, reluctantly, she rolled off him and they both slowly shifted position to settle down, facing one another; he was still watching her surprisingly intently. "What?"

Half-closing his eyes, Severus looked away from her. "I was trying to think of something to give you for a birthday present," he said slowly, sounding rather unsure of himself.

Pleased, she pushed her hair back from her face, smiling a little. "You don't have to get me anything."

"I know that," he told her tartly with a brief flash of his usual impatience, softening it a little with his familiar crooked half-smile before hesitating. "The problem is," he said slowly, looking away from her, "that I don't seem to have much to offer... no, don't interrupt me," he snapped, glancing at her for a split second before looking away again. The look in his eyes wasn't one she had seen before; partly the blankness of Occlumency, which was quite rare these days, and partly something else she couldn't identify.

He seemed to have lost the thread of what he was saying, faltering and frowning slightly before sighing impatiently and trying again. "I don't know what's going to happen. I have already said that I don't know what we do next, nor do I know what Dumbledore has planned, or what the Order are doing..." He paused again, clearly struggling to find the right words; she had never seen him so unable to express himself, and watched his face in growing concern.

Licking his lips, Severus spoke again; his voice was very quiet now, and he was avoiding eye contact. "I told you once that I wasn't sure what promises I would be able to make..." He hesitated, and Hermione realised that the odd expression was at least partly nervousness; he actually looked scared, before shaking his head with a frustrated sound at his inability to say whatever it was he was trying to say. "Damnit," he whispered, so quietly that she barely heard him, quietly enough that she knew it was directed at himself and not her, before he lifted his head jerkily and stared at her; he had gone pale and still had that strange look in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he hesitated again before blurting suddenly, "Marry me."

* * *

><p><em>What? <em>A thousand thoughts began tumbling through her head at once. Shock, mostly, because she sure as hell hadn't expected this. She wondered why he was asking now, why he was even asking at all, what this meant for the two of them; she tried to work out what this could tell her about his feelings, wondering briefly and irrelevantly what other people might think or say if they knew. A completely irrational part of her was reminding her rather shrilly that he was her teacher. She replayed his words in her head, trying to find some sort of sense in the fairly dispassionate tone of his voice; his eyes looked uncertain, but the rest of his expression was as stony and unreadable as ever. She tried to sort out her own hopelessly tangled feelings about this man.

Most of her brain was occupied with the chaos of all those thoughts jumbled together at once. A small corner of her mind, the instinctive quick-thinking area that Severus himself had taught her to listen to, ignored everything going through her head right now and while she was caught up in mentally panicking she heard her own voice saying clearly and calmly, "Yes."

Hermione was possibly almost as startled as he was by her answer, as she slowly raised her head and looked at him. Her racing thoughts had stilled the moment she'd spoken and her mind was suddenly very quiet as she watched his expression change, his eyes widening and his pupils dilating as his face lost a few more shades of colour; obviously she had shocked him badly. She could see behind his rather fragile shields and as she watched his eyes she understood just how terrified he had been before he'd asked; in hindsight, that probably explained a little of his unusual ardour earlier.

There was a hint of agonised confusion in his face now as he stared at her uncertainly; she could see a shadow of the boy he had once been and he had never looked so vulnerable. Clearing her throat to dislodge the lump suddenly blocking it, she smiled rather shakily at him and repeated, "Yes."

He swallowed. "Yes?" he repeated uncertainly, as though he wasn't sure he had heard her correctly.

Blinking tears out of her eyes, she smiled properly and laid her hand over his. "Of course, yes, damnit." He still looked rather lost, and she shook her head. "You daft man, did you really think I'd say no?" Meeting her eyes, he nodded wordlessly, shadows of old pain creeping through his gaze. "Then why did you even ask?"

"I..." He wasn't looking at her now, but his fingers had laced through hers and she could feel his hand trembling slightly. "I don't..." He swallowed again. "I don't want to lose this. I don't know what's going to happen, but..." He trailed off helplessly, shivering and still avoiding her eyes.

Reaching out with her free hand, Hermione touched his face gently; her own thoughts had calmed and she had never felt so certain of anything in her life, not since the day Professor McGonagall had arrived at her house and explained to her and her parents that she was a witch. She felt the same feeling now, of something falling into place with an almost audible click and the world suddenly making a hell of a lot more sense. Pressing lightly on his jaw, she turned his head and made him look at her. His very lack of expression told her everything she needed to know.

"Yes, Severus," she told him quietly. "Yes. Whatever happens at the end of the war, if we survive this, yes, I'll marry you." She met his eyes and said softly, "I love you."

That very nearly broke him. She saw her words hit him with far more force than they should have done, and his hand tightened on hers and he turned his face away, ducking his head a little so that his hair fell forward to conceal his expression. A few more pieces of the puzzle that was Severus Snape fell into place, and for a moment Hermione felt a completely irrational surge of sheer murderous rage directed at everyone who had hurt and damaged this man to the point where he thought so little of himself. Pushing it away, she ran her fingers into his hair and turned his head back and down to make him look at their joined hands, gently running her thumb over his bony knuckles.

She heard him draw in a deep breath and said quietly, "Don't you dare _ever _ask me whether I'm sure, or I'm going to slap you. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have answered you. If I'd needed time to think about it, I'd have said so. I told you, this isn't a game, Severus."

He tried to smile; given the state he was in, it wasn't a very successful attempt and looked more like a grimace. "That isn't actually what I was going to say," he replied in a slightly hoarse voice, lifting his head and staring past her. "_Accio._"

Reaching out with his free hand, he caught whatever it was he had Summoned to him and sat up, gently pulling his hand out of hers to look at what turned out to be the bag he had taken from his Gringotts vault, what seemed another lifetime ago. Hermione watched him pawing through the contents; his expression was still impossible to read, but he was visibly trembling and clearly not his usual self right now. That was understandable; she felt a bit shaky herself. Finally he pulled out a rather distinctively shaped small square box and held it out to her mutely, tossing the bag carelessly onto the floor, and she stared for a moment before reaching to take it from him. _How long has he been planning this? _Silently she opened the ring box and looked down at the ring inside.

The gold was obviously antique, with a depth of colour that only showed in very old jewellery, set with three stones – two small diamonds either side of what she thought at first was a piece of onyx but on closer inspection proved to be a very dark red stone that she didn't quite recognise; it looked too dark to be a ruby. Whatever it was, it was absolutely perfect, holding something of the same glittering black fire as his eyes, and the ring as a whole was beautiful.

She had to swallow hard before she could say anything, blinking rapidly. _I refuse to start crying, _she told herself sternly; Severus was clearly unsettled enough as it was, and he'd probably panic completely if she started crying on him now. Clearing her throat, she managed, "It's lovely," gently tracing the glittering gems with her finger. "What's the stone?" That sounded stupidly inane to her, but she had no idea what you were supposed to say at a time like this, and it was frankly a miracle she could say anything at all.

"Garnet," he replied hoarsely, still obviously struggling for control himself.

"Your birthstone," she remembered, and he nodded uneasily. Hermione looked back at the ring, smiling a little; garnet might not be terribly fashionable, or terribly valuable, but it wasn't as if she cared. It was beautiful; more than that, if she remembered correctly, garnet symbolised constancy, which made it the perfect representation of Severus himself. "It looks very old."

"It is," he agreed softly, sounding a little better; the mundane conversation seemed to be helping him get a grip on himself once more. "I don't know how old, though."

"It's an heirloom, isn't it? That's why it was in your vault..." She looked up at him, and he nodded.

"There wasn't much left to inherit. I told you that already. And I sold most of what there was. But I kept a couple of the better pieces... I don't know why, now, but... I'm glad I did," he added in something of a rush, and she smiled at him, blinking back tears again.

"So am I. It's beautiful." Trying desperately to keep her tone light, she held the box out to him. "Well, are you going to put it on me?"

He didn't respond, taking the ring out of the box and staring down at it for a long moment before reaching to take her left hand, running his thumb over her knuckles briefly before carefully sliding the ring onto her third finger. The metal had warmed in his hand and it settled into place easily; it fitted perfectly, as though it had been made for her, although she was certain neither of them had resized it. Taking a moment to look at it, at the gems glittering red-black and white against the gold, Hermione smiled, before turning back to her lover – her _fiancé, _now. His dark eyes were still very hard to read, but there was something almost frightened in his gaze that she suspected she would never understand; touching his cheek gently, she leaned in and kissed him, trying to reassure him that she had told him the truth.

His eyes were closed when she drew back; he opened them slowly and looked at her, searching her gaze. A little warmth entered his expression, the faintest hint of a fragile and uncertain smile touching the corner of his mouth, before he leaned in and kissed her in return and she shifted closer to press her body against his, wanting to touch as much of his skin as possible as they began to make love again.

* * *

><p>After Hermione had fallen asleep, Severus very carefully eased his way out of bed and crept to the bathroom as silently as he could, relieved there seemed to be no sign of either of the boys reappearing yet; he was absolutely not in the mood to deal with either of them right now. Carefully closing the door behind him, he sank down to sit against it, leaning his head back against the wood and starting to shake; as his throat closed and his chest and stomach tightened, he shut his eyes and stopped fighting, letting the panic attack wash over him.<p>

After it eased, he opened his eyes shakily and took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling, slowly regaining the even rhythm of meditation and calming down again. He had never been so terrified in his entire life, and he had finally spoken without thinking for the first time since his teens – he hadn't for a moment intended to propose.

Swallowing bile as the nausea began to ease, Severus shook his head, grimacing faintly. He hadn't meant to do that. Originally, his shaky-as-hell 'plan' had been to try and get some balls and actually manage to say something concrete about his feelings, because he knew that if he didn't come up with some sort of commitment soon he risked losing her; Hermione wasn't stupid and she wasn't going to hang around waiting to see what happened forever. She was like him in that respect, she liked knowing what to expect and what was going on, and although she'd had the patience of a saint so far he knew it couldn't last.

He'd spent all day trying to rehearse it in his head, trying to find the right words to explain what she had come to mean to him without feeling like a total moron or turning into a stammering, blushing schoolboy. He hadn't been able to come up with anything, and had finally decided nervously just to wing it and hope honesty would work, only to run into a problem he hadn't anticipated. He had known it would be difficult to express himself, but as he'd tried to speak he'd felt the psychological block in his mind and started to panic, horrified to realise that he physically couldn't say it.

Closing his eyes again, he leaned back against the bathroom door, shivering – it wasn't warm enough to be sitting naked on the tiles, but he felt too shaky to stand up just yet. Damn his stupid scarred psyche to the seven circles of Hell. _Why _was it so bloody difficult just to tell her how he felt? He could think the words – _I love you, Hermione – _but he couldn't say it aloud, even now when he was sitting here by himself. Maybe it wasn't that much of a surprise, given how emotionally fucked up he was and how warped his life had been, but damnit, she deserved better than having to put up with his complete emotional retardation. Struggling to force the words out, he'd realised it wasn't going to work, and in desperation had blurted out the first thing he could think of that might show the same sentiment.

It hadn't been _completely _out of the blue, though. Severus had always intended to ask her... eventually. Just not now. He had only got the ring out of his vault because he had no idea when he would next be able to get to it, and also to make sure it did look the way he remembered it and to see if he wanted to use it or if he'd rather go out and find another one. He hadn't planned anything specific but he had certainly intended to wait until the war was over before asking, and had vaguely considered waiting until she had graduated.

In the back of his mind he had decided to marry her quite some time ago, before they had started sleeping together, but truthfully he couldn't quite say why. Because he felt it was expected of him, mostly. He didn't give a flying fuck about marriage as an institution, but it was a way to demonstrate that this was permanent and to show everyone that he really meant it, and he felt vaguely that in some way it made the relationship more legitimate. If left to himself he would be perfectly happy to never, ever tell anyone because it was nobody else's business, but sooner or later they were going to have to start admitting it to at least a few people.

There was a hell of a lot to sort out, though. He'd never been good at thinking about the future – mostly because he'd never believed he had one – and he wasn't really sure what he wanted to happen. They would have to have the dreaded 'do you want children' talk at some point, which really wasn't going to be fun. He was also going to have to speak to the Grangers; somehow he doubted that two Muggle dentists were going to be pleased to learn that their daughter's teacher had proposed to her, especially since they knew he was a Death Eater and presumably had at least a vague idea of what that involved.

And there was still so much Hermione didn't know about him, too. He'd told her what he could – or, more accurately, he'd stopped hiding quite so vigorously and let her figure out a few things – and thanks to Dumbledore she did at least know something of the whole Lily issue, but she certainly didn't know the full story behind that, or about the prophecy, or his parents, or... anything else. _What a fucking mess._

Still, it was done now; he'd asked, and he couldn't take it back. And to his total and utter shock, she'd said yes. Opening his eyes, Severus stared at the sink, shaking his head slowly as he thought back over the past couple of hours. Hermione had looked utterly stunned when he'd said it – hardly a surprise, since he hadn't expected it either – but she had barely hesitated for a second before answering. If he _had _planned this, he doubted he would have expected that. The best he could have hoped for was 'maybe'; if she'd asked for time to think about it, that would have made sense. He wouldn't have blamed her or been surprised if she'd simply said no, either. But 'yes'? _Why did she say yes? _He shook his head again, confused. She was a very smart girl, she had to have realised she still knew very little about him and he hadn't managed to say anything about his feelings. But she'd accepted anyway, and confused or not, he believed that she at least thought she knew what she was doing.

And she had said she loved him. He had very nearly started crying at that point, and his eyes were stinging now as he remembered her voice saying the words. He'd never heard that before. Nobody had ever said it to him. It had to be too good to be true, just like everything else good in his life had ever been, but he was trying not to be quite so pessimistic. Hermione wasn't the type to play games, and her intelligence made up for her inexperience; she wouldn't have said it if she wasn't certain that it was true. He still didn't understand why, but he did believe her, even if part of him was sure that she was making a horrific mistake.

Severus became aware that his jaw ached; he was confused for a moment until he realised he was grinning so broadly that his cheeks were hurting. Suppressing a snort, he stood up shakily and regarded his rather sheepish reflection in the mirror over the sink; there was a suggestion of startled-rabbit-in-the-headlights in his expression, but the earlier panic had given way to this bloody stupid grin that made him look like an idiot and did nothing for his already poor looks. Mistake or not, she had said yes, and he was damned well going to do everything in his power to ensure she didn't regret it, because he had no intention of letting her go without a fight.

Splashing cold water on his face, he made an effort to pull himself together, relaxing a little. He could barely tell up from down right now, but he'd been feeling like that for months, really; he was used to being utterly bewildered and slightly terrified by now. It didn't matter at the moment. What with panic attacks, worrying himself sick and altogether too much sex, he was exhausted. Time to go back to bed, snuggle up with his fiancée – _stop grinning, damnit_ – and get some sleep, if he could.

* * *

><p><em>Well now, that was a little unexpected for all concerned, wasn't it? Bless him, Severus is so clueless sometimes. I suppose as it's the leap year today, Hermione should have asked him, but God knows what would have happened if she had. Anyway, the Order aren't having a good time at the moment, are they, with Dumbledore finally starting to die? We'll be seeing more of them in the next few chapters.<br>_

_More fan art, from **djfox31: **_ravenwing31 dot deviantart dot com /art/Chasing-the-Sun-Patronus-286480374


	43. Chapter 43

_And the 4000th review was caught by **Caraline Fisher. **Congratulations to her.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"I do not sleep tonight<br>I might not ever  
>The sins of the past have come<br>See how they sit down together..."**  
>– Chris Rea, 'And You, My Love'.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione was humming to herself and making breakfast the next morning when Ron and Harry shuffled downstairs, both looking a little the worse for wear – and in the latter's case, somewhat startled – but reasonably intact. "I'm surprised you're both still alive," she greeted them cheerfully.<p>

"Dad held Mum down so I could make a run for it," Ron explained with a grin, "and Harry came back here directly from wherever he went. I don't think it's going to be safe for either of us to go home until we can take You-Know-Who's head as a peace offering. And I'm pretty sure Gin's gone into hiding at Bill and Fleur's."

"Probably for the best," Hermione agreed dryly, before turning to smile sweetly at Harry. "Did you have a nice time?" she asked innocently.

He went _bright_ red, but held his own surprisingly well, retorting, "About as nice as yours, I'd say. We found Snape's shirt half way up the stairs – well, what was left of it, at least – and your bra was on the landing."

"Oh, is that what happened to it," she replied urbanely, refusing to be embarrassed even though she was pretty sure neither she nor Severus had remembered to shut the bedroom door yesterday and therefore whoever _had _shut it had probably seen more than they should have done.

"Also, Snape's whistling to himself in the shower," Ron added. "Badly."

_Probably true, _Hermione conceded. Severus had a lot of musical talent, he played the piano like a professional and his singing voice was absolutely unbelievable, but he was the only man she had ever met who managed to whistle not just tunelessly but completely out of tune.

"So what happened?" Ron asked as he started to make tea for everyone. "Did he fall on his knees and admit everlasting love or something? Because you look pretty happy today too."

Resisting the urge to look at her left hand – Severus hadn't asked her to keep it a secret, but she'd like to keep it to herself for a little while before telling anyone, at least until she was used to the idea; it wasn't a problem because Harry and Ron were male and would never notice any jewellery, let alone what finger it happened to be on – she grinned. "Hardly. This is Severus we're talking about. I've said it to him, but he hasn't said it back yet."

"What? Why not?"

_Oh, dear. _It seemed they were going to have to have this conversation. Rolling her eyes, Hermione passed them both some toast and took her tea. "Ron, you love me and Harry, don't you?"

"What?" He sounded amusingly panicky. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Do you? Yes or no."

"Er... well, I – I guess so... but..."

"Harry, you love Ginny, right? I hope so, anyway, or Mrs Weasley really is going to murder you, if her brothers don't get to you first."

"I, uh..."

"It's a simple question, Harry. You do love her, don't you?"

"Er..."

"You see?" she asked cheerfully of the room at large. "Men aren't good at saying that word. Men who weren't brought up in stable family environments are worse. It's fine. I know how he feels, so he doesn't have to say it."

More than that, she remembered last night. Severus hadn't said a word after she'd told him that she was sure, but his touch had been gentler and more tender than she had ever known him as he had taken her once more, especially when compared to their earlier almost violent passion. And when he had come, he had buried his face in her neck silently, shaking and almost crying. She had never seen that side of him, and afterwards he had pressed himself against her, his arms almost too tight as he held her. He usually fell asleep first, but she was certain that this time he had stayed awake for a long time after she had drifted off, and he had been awake when she opened her eyes.

Yes, Hermione was absolutely certain that he loved her; he wouldn't have been so terrified if he didn't.

Severus himself came downstairs a few minutes later. He looked tired, supporting her suspicion that he hadn't slept, but he looked relaxed and calm enough, and his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners in a teasing hint at a smile when he saw her. For her part, Hermione's little thrill of happiness on seeing him was almost ruined when she noticed a bruise on his neck, and she hastily buried her face in her cup to hold back a fit of the giggles; she didn't remember giving him a love bite.

As they settled to breakfast, she wondered idly why he hadn't seen fit to either heal it or conceal it; he must have seen it when he'd shaved. At least all the marks on her skin were hidden under her clothes this morning; she had a bite of her own over her collarbone, and his fingers had left bruises on her hips. She was pretty sure she'd actually drawn blood on his back and shoulder last night, but he certainly hadn't said a word of complaint; even so, she made a mental note to cut her fingernails later, just in case.

* * *

><p>It still didn't seem quite real, Hermione reflected later as they all settled to research again – although she wasn't convinced that any of them were paying much attention. Harry was very clearly daydreaming, staring happily into the distance; Ron was trying to avoid looking at anyone else, apparently starting to feel a little left out; Severus was certainly going through the motions, but she was reasonably certain that he didn't even know which book he was looking at; and her own thoughts weren't really focused on her book either.<p>

She was _engaged. _That in itself was pretty huge. Not only that, she was engaged to _Professor Snape, _which was just bizarre_. _Although she didn't really think of him like that any more; when she remembered the man who had taught her in her earlier years, he seemed almost like another person entirely. So much of it had been an act, and none of them had ever realised that there was anything beneath that outer shell of cold dislike. She turned a page to give herself an excuse to glance briefly at her ring, still trying to get used to the idea.

Eighteen was young to be engaged, these days. But it hadn't always been – her parents had married when her mother was only nineteen, and as for the wizarding world, they had only just begun to move on from childhood betrothals. And really, it was just a word, just a way of formalising the feelings she already knew about. When it came down to it, she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him; it didn't really matter what label was put on that or what trappings came with it. She'd never been the sort of little girl who spent hours dreaming of her perfect wedding.

And, of course, it was rather dependent on their both surviving the war. Which was all the more reason for her to be paying attention to what they were supposed to be doing, she told herself sternly, resolutely trying to pull her thoughts away from her man to focus on less pleasant matters.

It was Ron who broke the silence with an annoyed huff some time later. "I don't get it. Why's it so hard to kill the snake?"

"Because we don't know where she is," Severus answered distantly. The fact that he had missed a chance to say something insulting indicated pretty strongly that he wasn't paying much attention.

Hermione explained, "There's lots of spells that will work to kill her from a distance; we've got a list of them now. The ones I've underlined will destroy the Horcrux as well..."

"I've been thinking about that," Severus interjected, dragging himself back to the real world. "A Horcrux bound to a living vessel is far more vulnerable than one stored in an inanimate object; it is tied to the host's life force rather than existing independently. It will be much easier to destroy. Anything that can kill Nagini will destroy the Horcrux inside her. It need not be a spell; it depends on how we manage to locate her."

She nodded. "That's good to know. Anyway, what we need is a way to make sure the spell – or whatever – can find her. You-Know-Who will have her somewhere safe. She could be hidden behind all kinds of things and we've no way of knowing, so we need some way of getting past anything."

"Well, what kinds of magic can do that?" Harry asked, shaking off his own daydreams.

"Not many. Healing magic can't be blocked, but it requires physical contact – usually, anyway," Severus added rather dryly, absently flexing his right arm; Hermione noticed for the first time that the copper bracelet was visible, now being worn openly on his wrist.

"We don't want to Heal her anyway," Harry pointed out.

"Healing magic can be used to kill as well, Harry," Hermione told him gently. "Remember? Severus told us that's what the Killing Curse was for, originally. And that's one of the reasons it can't be defended against."

"Okay, but it won't work now. What other magic can't be blocked easily?"

"Certain types of blood magic, but it's unbelievably dangerous to fuel a lethal spell with your own blood, especially when dealing with something as dark as a Horcrux. Again, it's not easy to send that sort of spell over an unknown distance either."

"Can we do something to find the snake?" Ron asked. "Track her down? Maybe we can sneak in to wherever she's being kept and kill her that way. Or just burn the building down with Fiendfyre or something."

"No, we can't," Severus replied. "One, using that much Fiendfyre would do unfortunate things to the psyche of whoever tried it and probably kill them, at which point the spell would run riot and wipe out everything in sight. It's not a toy. Two, if we had a way of finding her, we'd be able to use that to kill her, instead of simply locating her. Tracking and location spells require some sort of focus; most commonly the tracers use the magical signature of whoever they are looking for, but if that's not possible then you need living tissue – blood, skin, hair, something like that. For Nagini, we'd need blood or venom or scales; then we could use thaumaturgy to anchor a curse to that link and kill her, or to create something physical to destroy that would resonate to kill her with it."

"Thauma-what?"

"Thaumaturgy. It's an advanced branch of Arithmancy. The basic principle involves setting something up on a small scale and using it to make something happen on a large scale – for example, 'killing' a sample of tissue to cause the original source to die."

"Oh, I get it," Harry said. "Like a voodoo doll?"

"Yes, exactly."

"You-Know-Who used to drink her poison in some kind of potion, right?" Ron asked. "Were you ever involved in that?"

Severus shook his head. "No. That was before he returned fully. I am astounded that anything Pettigrew brewed didn't kill him, frankly, but nobody else had access to her."

Harry said thoughtfully, "Nagini might be a Horcrux, but she's still a snake. What happened when she shed her skin?"

"I really don't know, Potter. Given her importance to the Dark Lord, I can't imagine he would have left so much as a scale lying around. I would think he would make sure all the dead skin was destroyed. For all I know, she didn't shed her skin at all; I don't recall ever seeing her peeling."

"If we knew what kind of snake she was, could we create a link between a similar snake and her?" Hermione asked; she already knew that Severus didn't know what species she was, but it was still worth a try.

He frowned slightly, thinking about it. "Not really. There might be a way, but I think it would only be possible to create a blanket spell that would destroy every single snake of that type, which would disrupt a lot of ecosystems and seriously upset the natural balance. It would also be unbelievably complex to work out, take a vast amount of power to achieve, and would require us to find out what kind of snake she is and then find a way to steal a similar one. Even with a Parselmouth, that might be a little difficult."

"Oh, this is stupid," Ron said in a disgusted tone. "Harry, mate, can't you just stick your head outside and yell in Parseltongue for her to show up?"

"Somehow, Ron, I don't think she'd want to listen to me. The basilisk didn't. Just because it can understand me doesn't mean it'll listen. She belongs to You-Know-Who."

"Parseltongue works on things that aren't really snakes as well," Hermione said absently, thinking. "The basilisk wasn't a true snake. The carving on the tap to open the way to the Chamber of Secrets wasn't even alive. And that construct that Malfoy threw at you in the Duelling Club in second year wasn't a real snake either, but it listened."

"Yeah," Harry said sourly, giving Severus an annoyed look. "Lucky me."

"If it's any consolation, Potter, I was hoping that the snake would go for Lockhart when he tried to stop it, rather than bothering you."

"Throwing him across the room wasn't enough?" Ron asked, grinning. "Although that was probably the only cool thing we'd ever seen you do."

Severus snorted contemptuously. "I was making a point to Dumbledore; the man was obviously a fraud. Anyone weak enough magically to be hurled across the room by a simple Disarming charm was clearly not capable of teaching, let alone apparently running around the world defeating dangerous Dark creatures. Besides, he was irritating me."

Ron sniggered. "That crack about love potions on Valentine's Day? Was anyone daft enough to ask you?"

"Of course not. Stupid as most of the students are, none of them are suicidal."

"Why did Dumbledore hire him? Was it just because you were the only other person to apply?"

"No. I suspect it was because Lockhart looked like someone Dumbledore... used to know a long time ago." He snorted again before turning. "We're getting sidetracked. Why were you thinking about false snakes, Hermione?"

"I don't know," she said in frustration. "I'm just trying to think of another angle. Can you sense snakes somehow, Harry?"

He shook his head. "Nope. If I know they're there I can talk to them, and understand what they're saying, but that's it. They don't come and find me or anything either."

"Wormtail's Nagini's keeper, right?" Ron asked. "Can we kidnap him and get him to tell us where she is?"

An ugly look passed through Severus' dark eyes for a moment. "No, we can't. It's far too risky to directly attack any of the Death Eaters; we saw something of what a battle would be like at Hogwarts, and if they hadn't all been so busy trying to kill me that they were getting in one another's way, the toll would have been a _lot _higher. They have more people than we do, and they're better and more ruthless fighters."

"We beat them at the Ministry..."

"You got lucky," Severus said flatly. "Lucius was trying to avoid actually committing murder in case he had to try and explain it later, Bellatrix was too busy gloating to pay attention, and the rest of the men they had with them were idiots. Had it been a real fight, without any ulterior motives, you would all have been captured or killed in minutes."

"Okay, so much for that plan," Hermione said hastily, trying to change the subject back to the original topic.

He nodded. "In any case, Peter Pettigrew is already dead," he said dispassionately.

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "When did he die?"

"Over a year ago."

"You never said anything to us," he accused.

Severus shrugged. "It wasn't important."

"What killed him?" Ron asked.

Hermione abruptly guessed the answer even before Severus spoke; his expression was blank, his eyes cold. "I did."

They stared at him silently for a while before Harry asked quietly, "Why?"

"He was in my way," Severus replied indifferently. "He had been sent to 'assist' me; the Dark Lord insisted that he move into my house and annoy me all summer. He was spying on me, of course. I allowed him to see enough to prove my loyalty – the Unbreakable Vow – and then I ensured that he disappeared. I had too much to do without having to avoid him. And he deserved death."

"Revenge?" Ron asked in a rather subdued voice.

He inclined his head slightly. "Partly, I admit. But that wasn't why I did it. Nor did I indulge myself; it was quick. Quicker than he deserved. I risked his exposing my true loyalties and he was interfering with the work I needed to do. In addition, neither side gained anything from his being alive. I believe Dumbledore hoped to use his debt to you in some fashion, Potter, but I decided that any advantage we might wring from it wasn't worth the price we might pay if he lived that long."

"What if You-Know-Who had realised what you'd done?"

"Don't underestimate him. He didn't see everything but he saw most of it. I'm sure he knew I was responsible, but he couldn't prove it, and Wormtail had outlived his usefulness. He was a servile, snivelling coward who seriously annoyed everyone around him, including the Dark Lord. Nobody was ever going to mourn him."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. Although I'm sure many of the Death Eaters suspect that I had a hand in his disappearance. It is well known that he was a former Marauder and that I disliked him on that basis."

"Back to Nagini," Hermione said hastily; they could talk about this later. "Do you know where You-Know-Who might keep her, Severus? Where's his main hideout?"

He shrugged. "All my information is out of date. Now that I've defected, the Dark Lord will have changed his habits as much as possible precisely so that my knowledge will be rendered useless. He was using Malfoy Manor as his base of operations but he certainly won't be now, especially after the Order's raid to recover the prisoners. I don't know how we're going to find him once we've destroyed the final Horcrux; as soon as Nagini dies he's going to check on the others, realise what we've done and go into hiding."

"That doesn't sound like him," Harry said. "I'd have thought he'd come to find us, frothing and screaming and wanting to kill us all."

"He's insane, Potter, but he's not stupid," Severus pointed out. "He spent a very long time trying to make himself immortal. When he realises that it hasn't worked, he is going to panic. He would only confront us directly if he thought he could win. Like most tyrants, he is a coward at heart, and once he knows that the Order have made him mortal again and are coming for him, he'll run. But that is a problem for another day. Which brings us back to Nagini."

"So," Ron summed up, "we need some way of finding the snake, or something that will let a spell get to her and kill her no matter where she is. And the best way to do that is to get something of hers. There wouldn't be anything left behind somewhere she used to live, would there?"

Severus looked doubtful. "I wouldn't think so. I suppose I could check a few of the old meeting places, but I don't know any of the more recent ones and I didn't pay much attention to where the snake was staying."

"Something left behind," Harry said slowly.

They turned to look at him. "You've thought of something?" Hermione prompted him hopefully.

"I – I don't know." He looked at Severus. "This thaum-whatever – thaumaturgy?"

"Yes."

"How strong a trace do you need?"

"The stronger the better, obviously, but depending on what it is, I can work with something fragile. What's your idea, Potter?"

"Well, Mr Weasley survived being bitten, right? Would there be – I don't know, some sort of – of residue left in the bite? He's still got a scar from it. Maybe there's still a bit of the poison in his blood. I dunno."

They all stared at Severus, who was staring at the wall, his lips moving slightly and his eyes narrowing, his brows furrowing in concentration. "...I'll be damned," he said finally, slowly. "It could work. I'd need to analyse some of Arthur's blood to see if there was anything there strong enough to use, but it could work."

"It wouldn't hurt my dad, would it?" Ron asked anxiously.

"No. If there is a trace in his blood, I can isolate it." Severus blinked slowly and half-smiled. "You've just had a good idea, Potter. I assure you, it will only hurt for a moment."

"Ha, ha," Harry replied, grinning. "I'm sure it hurts less than the pain of you admitting I've thought of something."

"Behave, both of you," Hermione ordered, grinning in response to the changed atmosphere in the room.

* * *

><p>The increased optimism in the house didn't last long. Later that evening, Hermione finally surfaced from her brooding and asked softly, "Severus, can we talk?"<p>

He looked up, and from the expression in his eyes he already knew what her answer would be as he replied cautiously, "About what?"

"Wormtail."

After a moment he sighed and sat straighter in his chair, leaning sideways to set his book down. "I wish you hadn't made this public," he murmured, looking more resigned than anything.

"Do you want us to go?" Ron asked awkwardly from the sofa.

Severus shook his head. "No. It's fine. I suppose you should hear this too." He leaned back and closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts, and finally sighed again. "There isn't much to say. He was in my way, so I killed him. I don't regret it. I don't like killing, I didn't enjoy it and I wasn't happy to do it – it really wasn't about revenge, although I suppose I didn't try very hard to think of alternatives – but I'm certainly not sorry. It needed doing."

"What did you do with him?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

"One more dead rat floating in the canal didn't attract attention. I melted down his silver hand and Vanished it." He hadn't opened his eyes and was clearly unwilling to look at any of them. "Don't look at one another like that," he said tiredly, "as if this is somehow shocking. He was a very long way from being the first person I've killed, and even murder isn't the worst crime I've ever committed."

"Who was the first?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice gentle, and saw him flinch at the question. It was time she forced herself to face and acknowledge this part of his life; she'd been avoiding thinking about it for too long.

"I don't know his name. He was a middle-aged Muggle."

"How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

One of the boys swore softly, but Hermione kept her eyes on Severus' face, even though he still wouldn't open his eyes. "How many have there been since then?"

"Not as many as you probably think, but... the first was too many." He sighed. "Twenty three, all told, not counting those I killed when we fought at Hogwarts, and not counting the ones who indirectly died as a result of something I said or did, or did not say or do. Pettigrew wasn't the most recent, either."

"You remember them all that clearly?"

"I can't forget," he replied starkly, his expression hardening slightly and his voice growing dull. "I don't know most of their names, but I remember every single face."

"Which one was the worst?" Ron asked, and he shivered, his eyes squeezing more tightly shut.

"I won't answer that."

"Were they all Muggles?" Harry asked. The boys seemed sincerely concerned, Hermione noticed; there was morbid curiosity there too, but no disgust or fear – at least, not much. Unfortunately she doubted Severus was in any fit state to notice, or that he would care if he did.

"No." He did open his eyes now; they were bleak and cold and shadowed. "They weren't all at the Dark Lord's command, either," he added crisply. "I've killed for the Order as well as for the Death Eaters."

"What?"

"Who else would do it?" he spat in sudden anger. "Murder is always wrong, you know that as well as I do, but sometimes it is necessary. I'm already bound for Hell so what's a few more deaths on my conscience, a bit more blood on my hands?"

Hermione broke the silence that followed. "I didn't think you believed in Hell."

"Everything has consequences," was all he said in reply.

"But... you did it for us."

"Not all of it."

"No, but most of it. That counts for a lot."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said wearily, his gaze growing bleaker still. "Even now, you still don't know everything I've done. Some things can't be justified." He sighed again, a look of resignation passing across his face before his expression hardened with a kind of grim resolve. "Potter, do you know why I really changed sides, why even after your mother's death I persisted on this course and continued to try and protect you?"

Harry thought about it, looking as though he was a little afraid of the answer – Hermione felt the same, and by the look on Ron's face so did he. "You owed my dad a debt..." he said finally, rather hesitantly.

"That was paid when I stopped Quirrell knocking you off your broom in your first year."

"I don't know, then, sir. I thought it was because of... her."

"Slightly, but she was dead and my actions couldn't change that. I didn't care about you. You might be half hers, but you're half his as well, and some wounds go too deep to heal entirely. No, it was to ease my own guilt, to try and pay a different sort of debt and make up for what I had done."

"And what was that?"

It was Harry who asked the question, but it was Hermione that Severus looked at as he replied very quietly, "I'm the one who overheard half the prophecy and told the Dark Lord."

In the stunned silence that followed, he stood up slowly and began to pace back and forth, his eyes now staring into the distance at something only he could see and filled with a kind of resigned sorrow. "I didn't know who it meant then, but that's no excuse. I knew I would be condemning some innocent to death, but at that point I still wanted to please my master above anything else and I told him what I knew. Later, when he declared that it referred to the Potters, I did everything I could to protect them, but it wasn't enough."

"You killed them," Harry whispered. He had started to tremble.

He shook his head. "No, not directly. But I don't deny that I made them targets. I made it possible for them to be killed. I am not wholly to blame, but I bear much of the responsibility. That's why I stayed true to the Order after she died, to try and atone for that first terrible mistake."

"Does anyone else know?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Dumbledore. Trelawney knows I was kicked out of the building during her interview, unless the sherry's dissolved that memory by now, but she doesn't remember making the prophecy; only Dumbledore knows everything. At least, he thinks he does, but as usual he knows the facts without understanding them."

Severus turned to face Harry, cocking his head to one side, an odd half-smile twisting his lips. "There you go, Potter. You were right to hate me all these years, even if you only now know why. I don't have any more secrets, not important ones. Make of it what you will. You can curse me if you like, or hit me, or leave. I won't try and stop you."

From the look on Harry's face, any of them was an option. Hermione stared between them both, the man she loved and the man who was her brother in all but name, and had no idea what to say or do. Severus' face was a mask, his eyes lifeless and haunted and the rest of his features utterly expressionless; Harry was staring at him, visibly shaking, those expressive green eyes filled with all the pain and anger of the orphaned boy who had no memory of his parents beyond hearing them scream as they were murdered.

"You killed them," Harry repeated in a hoarse whisper, blinking back tears as his expression twisted.

Severus looked back at him numbly; Hermione didn't even have words for the emotions in his dark eyes now. It was a stark reminder of just how damaged he was. She had always known there were terrible things in his past that he hadn't told her about, but she hadn't guessed this. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much it had been hurting him for so long. He made no attempt to reply, just looked back at Harry dully and waited, and when Harry drew his wand and aimed it at him she knew he wouldn't try to defend himself.

"Harry," she said softly, watching his hand shaking so much that any curse he used would only have a fifty-fifty chance of actually hitting him. "Don't do this."

"Did you know?" he hissed at her, his voice thick with rage. "_Did you?_"

"No. No, I didn't know." Swallowing, she tried to find the right words; she couldn't even look at Severus again, because if she did she was going to start crying. "But this won't help, Harry. I don't know what you're thinking of doing, but it's not going to change anything. It won't bring them back."

She looked at Ron for help; he avoided her eyes and shook his head, clearly on Harry's side. That was fair enough, she supposed – family meant more to the Weasleys than anything else.

The two men continued to stare at one another. Harry was crying now, shaking worse than ever, but he kept his wand up and aimed. "You betrayed them," he said thickly, and a nerve jumped under Severus' eye.

"Yes," he agreed very quietly. "It's the worst thing I have ever done, and I have spent the rest of my life trying to atone for it. If my apology would mean anything to you, you have it."

Harry choked, making a sound half a sob and half a furious laugh. "Shut up!"

"Harry, please," Hermione said quietly. She wasn't sure what frightened her most; the fear of what Harry would do, or the fear that Severus would let him. "I – you have every right to feel like this. I'm not trying to justify what happened. It was terrible, and tragic, and it shouldn't have happened, but... remember the prophecy. Your parents had already defied You-Know-Who three times. He would have gone after them sooner or later, and – neither of them were the type to hide safely, were they? How – how many people do we know at school who've lost one or both their parents?"

"Shut up!" he snarled.

"Don't speak to her like that," Severus said quietly, his voice still empty of any recognisable emotion. "Your problem is with me, not her."

"Why is she always defending you?" Harry spat furiously.

"I don't know."

Hermione turned and glared at him. "Yes, you damned well do!" she told him angrily, before making a decision and turning back to Harry. "Because of this," she told him, and held up her left hand.

There was a very long silence. Severus was still holding his blank mask, not so much as a flicker in his black eyes betraying his thoughts; Ron had gone pale enough that his freckles stood out like a rash. Harry had so many different emotions playing across his face that he was likely to have a stroke before he managed to sort himself out, as he stared at her with his mouth open. A small part of her started laughing hysterically, deep inside, as she waited for the final reaction.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Hermione lowered her hand. "Severus, can you go and have a cigarette or something while I talk to Harry, please?" she asked quietly. He nodded without looking at her and left, walking stiffly and clearly glad to escape, his shoulders hunched.

Ron finally broke the awkward atmosphere. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked in a rather strained voice.

"Yes."

"When... when did he ask?"

"Yesterday. After I got back from Headquarters." She smiled a little sadly, remembering the look on Severus' face and how scared he had been. That _I don't know _had showed her just how far they had to go; he found it so difficult to believe that anyone would want him or love him, it was heartbreaking.

"And you said yes?"

"No, I just nicked the ring to sell later," she retorted sarcastically. "Of course I did."

"Why?" Harry asked softly. He didn't sound angry any more, and he had stopped crying, but the tangled emotions in his eyes said the crisis wasn't over yet. Hardly surprising – he'd had a very bad shock and he never had got over learning that his parents had been murdered.

"Because I love him, Harry. I love him very much. I know you don't understand that, and I don't blame you, really – it is pretty weird, after all. But I do."

"He killed my parents," he said helplessly, sounding so confused.

She nodded, blinking until the threat of tears seemed to have passed. "He was only about our age, Harry, and he was alone and scared, and he wanted to keep himself safe. Even I don't know much about what it must be like among the Death Eaters, but some of the things that have been done to him... I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in his place. If he'd known what would happen he wouldn't have done it. That doesn't make it right, of course it doesn't, but he's not totally to blame. And it's certainly not his fault that Pettigrew betrayed them and told You-Know-Who where they were." _Although I'm sure he thinks it is._

"You saw his face, mate," Ron said slowly. "I know he hated your dad, but... I don't think he hated him that much. And I don't think he'd have put your mum at risk deliberately." He looked at Hermione. "He's pretty screwed up, isn't he?"

"Oh, God, you have _no _idea," she said with feeling, trying to smile, before looking at Harry. "He meant it, you know. He won't stop you if you want to leave, or if you go out there and hex him or something. I'd rather you didn't, though."

He shoved a hand through his hair and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not going to. I – I think I understand why he... you remember that lesson where I wouldn't tell you what he'd done, about why I had to control myself? I reckon I understand why he did it now. I'm still not going to tell you," he added, looking a bit more like his usual self, before shaking his head slowly. "We don't know anything about him at all, do we?"

Her smile was a bit more successful this time. "No. I don't know much, really. He's the most complicated man I've ever known."

"But you still said yes, when he proposed."

"I know the important things," she replied with a shrug.

"Did he go down on one knee and stuff?" Ron asked, his lips twitching as he suppressed a grin. "I'm trying to picture it and it's a really weird image."

Hermione stifled a laugh, wondering what her friends' faces would look like if she told them that Severus had actually proposed after sex, while they were both still trying to catch their breath. "No, nothing like that. I don't think he'd planned to ask yet, actually. It was a bit impulsive, I think. And he thought I'd say no," she added, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. _For such a smart man, he can be an idiot sometimes._

"He asked you to marry him but he hasn't said he loves you," Harry said slowly.

She shrugged. "I know, but it's complicated. Like Ron said, he's pretty screwed up. It works for us, okay? It works for me."

"Nobody else knows yet, do they?"

"No, so don't say anything. I don't know when we'll get around to telling anyone else, not with everything else going on."

"What are your parents going to say?" Ron asked.

"I don't have the faintest idea. I'm trying not to think about it at the moment," she admitted ruefully. "It's only been a few hours. I'm still trying to get my head around it. One thing at a time, okay? Anyway... are you all right, Harry?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I think so. I might have to go and sit upstairs and keep away from him for a little while, though."

"Well, take a couple of books with you and try and do something useful. I'd better go and see if he's all right."

* * *

><p>Hermione padded out into the overgrown back garden to look at her fiancé uncertainly, thinking about what he'd told them. It had shocked her badly, but she knew him well enough to see the pain in his eyes as he'd admitted it at last, and to see the faint touch of relief at the confession. She didn't like admitting to herself that he was a murderer, but she had known it for a long time anyway, and it obviously hurt him, and she was relieved to find that more than anything else she was concerned for him. "Severus?"<p>

He turned to face her, and in the instant before his shields settled again she saw real fear in his eyes. Even when that expression was hidden, he looked grim and resigned and clearly assumed the worst, and for a moment she wasn't sure if she wanted to hug him or smack him; how anyone as smart as he was and as skilled at reading people could still be so blind at times, she had no idea.

The former impulse won, which was probably just as well, and she moved closer to him. "It's okay."

Severus regarded her expressionlessly now, secure behind his walls once more, and arched one eyebrow slightly. "Hardly."

"No, it really is," she insisted quietly. "Harry's upset, yes, and shocked, and angry, but he didn't blow up about it. He'll talk it over with Ron and sort himself out. I don't know how Ron feels about it all but it's not really his business. And it doesn't change anything for me, either." He looked sceptical, and she tried to resist the urge to yell at him. "Yes, it was a shock, and I don't like thinking about that part of your life, but it's not as if I didn't know you'd killed people, and I'm certainly not going to cry over Pettigrew. As for the prophecy, and Harry's parents... I know you, Severus, and I can see how much it's hurt you. You couldn't have known what would happen, and I don't blame you for telling the Dark Lord either, under the circumstances. It was wrong, but so is everything that's happened in this damned war. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

The scepticism had given way to uncertainty in his dark eyes now, although the rest of his expression was still stony. Ignoring this, she moved closer still, holding his gaze fiercely. _If he looks away now, I really will slap him. _Deliberately she held up her left hand, seeing the faint flicker in his eyes as he registered it at the edge of his vision. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," she told him as lightly as she could, trying to ease the mood.

He continued to stare at her for a few moments, before finally something in his eyes softened a little and he relaxed fractionally, breathing out slowly. "You're too stubborn and optimistic for your own good, sometimes, Hermione."

"Probably," she agreed quietly, "but you gave up on yourself decades ago, so one of us needs to keep fighting." Severus flinched, swallowing, and she asked softly, "Have you really been carrying this much guilt for all this time?"

He looked away from her at last, hunching his shoulders a little. "Yes," he whispered.

"No wonder you hated yourself so much." She moved closer still, closing the last bit of distance between them, and reached up to touch his face. "You're not a monster. It took me a while to realise it, I admit, but you're not. You're not the man you think you are, Severus, or the man so many people have said you are. You're so much more than that. I wish you could see what I see when I look at you."

"And what is that?" he asked uncomfortably.

"I see the man who's saved us. The man who risked everything to protect me, and my parents. The man who's never stopped trying to protect Harry, for whatever reason, even though you knew we all suspected you right from the start. The man who nobody except me seems to like, or trust, or appreciate, or value, including himself. I see you, Severus," she told him. "Bravery, scars, self-loathing, anger and all. And I still love you, no matter how hard you try to persuade me otherwise. I just wish you believed it."

He sighed and looked away again, automatically twitching his head so his hair fell over his face and hid his eyes; she was really starting to hate that defensive gesture. "I do believe it, or at least I'm trying to. But I'm almost forty, Hermione. I'll be thirty eight in January. And last night was the first time I've ever heard those words directed at me from anyone. Is it so unreasonable that I'm finding it difficult to get my head around the idea? If you do truly love me, then you're the only one who ever has."

She sighed. _At least I enjoy a challenge, or I'd be crying right now. _"I do hate being smarter than everyone else. It's not my fault they were all idiots who didn't appreciate you."

That startled him into laughter for a moment, although it didn't last. "Perhaps," he replied noncommittally, looking a bit better, before glancing at the house. "How is Potter?"

"I don't know. Shocked, upset, angry – but he's okay, I think, or he will be. He's made a lot of progress in the last year."

He nodded, leaning back against the crumbling brickwork and relaxing a little. "I suppose we should be thankful Dumbledore hadn't already told him."

"Definitely. That would have been a real mess." Sighing again, she added, "Speaking of Dumbledore..."

Severus gave her a wary look. "Yes?"

"I was speaking to Phineas yesterday. He thinks Dumbledore might only have a couple of weeks left. It sounds... bad."

He searched her eyes for a moment before nodding, still holding the expressionless mask of Occlumency to hide his thoughts. "I suppose I should have expected that. All right. We would have had to return to Headquarters soon anyway to find out what we do next. Let's try to make some progress with Nagini – Arthur Weasley's blood might be good enough. If it does work, I can use a poison, so if I get that started, then in a few days we'll go to Headquarters. We'll get a blood sample and try to see Dumbledore, and see if we can piece together what's going on."

"You sound tired," she observed quietly, looking at him. He looked tired, too. His health had improved at first once they'd left Hogwarts, and he did seem to be sleeping better these days, but looking at him now she could see that things were beginning to get to him. He looked like he'd lost weight again, and the shadows under his eyes were deeper than one night of missed sleep could account for.

Severus did his best to summon a smile. "I am, but it's not the end of the world. We're almost there."

* * *

><p><em>Some seriously epic fan art with a difference from <strong>kitty-gurl1:<strong>_ namara-ashina dot deviantart dot com /art/Chasing-the-Sun-288870688

_And some fan art that was kept very quiet, from _**_PickedYou: _**pickedyou dot deviantart dot com /art/He-was-never-truly-yours-284108001


	44. Chapter 44

_Sorry for the short delay, I just needed to clear my head a bit. A belated happy birthday to **Daine-Weirynsra, **too. This chapter is a little shorter than usual, it's one of those really annoying ones that wouldn't split up evenly.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Some days I can see the future<br>Some days you seem so far  
>I don't know what I was thinking<br>I've been gone too long  
>I've been gone too long..."<strong>  
>– Gavin Rossdale, 'Can't Stop The World'.<p>

* * *

><p>Understandably, the atmosphere in the house was a little tense after all the dramatic revelations. Harry and Severus were mutually trying to avoid one another as much as possible; Ron seemed perfectly happy to stick to his best mate and keep out of the older wizard's way, which left Hermione rather caught in the middle. It wasn't a good idea for Severus to go back to isolating himself from everyone, especially in his own house, but she could certainly understand why he and Harry were a little uncomfortable around one another again.<p>

At least they had work to do to keep them all occupied, she supposed. They all knew the basic outline of the plan now, and they would be at Headquarters with the rest of the Order for the next few days – that would probably bring its own share of complications, from the bad situation with Dumbledore to the probably very funny reaction when Mrs Weasley finally got hold of Harry, but at least they were _doing _something. And having other people around would reduce the awkwardness, even if it did mean that she and Severus would have to go back to separate beds for a few days, which she wasn't looking forward to.

"Severus?" she asked him softly now; the two of them were standing with Ron in the hallway, waiting for Harry to find whatever it was he was looking for upstairs.

"Hmm?" he replied somewhat distractedly, obviously thinking about something else. It was almost strange to see him back in his frock coat and his flowing robes; she had grown used to the more casual Severus she saw at home, and it was odd to see Professor Snape again. Odd, but not necessarily unpleasant, she admitted to herself - he _did _look impressive, like this.

"Did you want me to take my ring off before we get there?" she asked in a low voice. "I assume you probably want to keep things private for as long as possible..."

He gave her a thoughtful look before shrugging. "If it were up to me, Hermione, we'd never tell anyone," he murmured dryly. "I'm never going to want to tell them, so it's up to you."

Biting her lip, she thought about it. "How badly are people going to react?"

"I really couldn't say. I'll wager anything you like that you're going to have lots of concerned people trying to find out what I did to force you, though," he said sourly, his lip curling. "And I'm sure I'll receive a lot of predictable threats."

Hoping that for once he would be wrong, she nodded, thinking about it. Finally she said quietly, "I won't volunteer anything and I won't tell anyone, but if someone notices and asks, I'm not going to lie." She grinned. "I doubt anyone would be brave enough to ask you."

He snorted softly. "Don't be so sure. Minerva's in charge there now, remember? And I'm sure Poppy's going to pounce on whomever she sees first."

"Will you answer, or snarl until they run away?" she asked mischievously, and he rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer. "It's up to you, Severus. I don't know how friendly you are with some of them. I shouldn't think many people will notice anyway."

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," he replied with a shrug, before raising his voice. "Potter, I swear, if you don't get down here within the next thirty seconds I'm going to tie you up and deliver you to Molly and Arthur in chains."

* * *

><p>Headquarters positively hummed with activity, to Severus' irritation; it seemed that everyone was there, although most of them would hopefully try to stay well clear of him. Dispatching Hermione and Weasley in search of Arthur and a blood sample – he didn't care what reason they concocted for why they needed it, really; Arthur was far from stupid and wouldn't waste time with daft questions – he shooed Potter off to go and find his girlfriend or something. Free of his irksome charges, even if that did mean Hermione wasn't there either, he glanced briefly in the direction of the bedroom where Dumbledore was apparently slowly dying before shaking his head. No, not yet. Perhaps never, although he didn't think it would be that easy. Absently scratching his wrist, he headed for the library in search of Minerva instead, and was surprised and pleased when she produced a chess set.<p>

"So, Severus, are you going to tell me what's going on now?" she asked as they settled to the game. "I've been more than patient with you, and you owe me an explanation. What is this mystery task Albus gave Harry?"

"Complicated, is what it is," he muttered, debating how much to say. "It's not safe to tell you all the details. It's risky enough that five people know – myself, Dumbledore, the Trio. I daren't tell anyone else. In essence, though, we're removing certain things that make the Dark Lord immortal. Once we get rid of them all, he can be killed." Except for whatever Dumbledore wasn't saying. _One thing at a time. _

"How many... things... are there? Are we talking physical objects?"

"In a sense," he replied vaguely – there was no way she would have heard of a Horcrux, but he hadn't survived this long by letting anyone know anything they didn't absolutely need to know. Paranoia had kept him alive so far and he wasn't going to abandon it now. "There were six. There's only one left now. Then, depending on the contents of those memories Dumbledore's given you for safekeeping, we should be able to kill the Dark Lord and end this once and for all."

They played in silence for a few minutes, presumably both contemplating that. Minerva McGonagall had been involved in both wars right from the start; she was only a couple of years older than Tom Riddle, if he recalled correctly. It must be strange for her to imagine not having to continue that fight any more, but it certainly couldn't be as strange as it was for Severus; he had literally had nothing else to live for, for more than half his life.

"What do the four of you need from the Order?" she asked finally.

"I don't know, Minerva. I honestly have no idea what's going to happen. It all depends on what Dumbledore's not saying." His stomach tightened for a moment; the fear of what that might be had been eating at him for months. "I don't suppose there's any chance of you letting me see those memories now?"

"None. He told me to hold them until... until afterwards... and I'm going to do as he said."

"Then I have no idea what the Order can do." He didn't bother wasting his breath arguing with her, not when she wouldn't listen.

"Why you four? Well, I know why – because you're a nuisance who likes to cause as much chaos as possible. Why Harry? He wasn't even of age when he was given this job."

Severus shrugged. "He's Dumbledore's blue-eyed boy. I wasn't aware there was another reason. I agree it's a little strange, but so is Dumbledore; nothing he does has surprised me in a long time." Except for a certain revelation delivered to Potter, anyway. Best not to think of that; he changed the subject. "How is the old man?"

"Ill," she replied bluntly, looking a little sad. "I... he seldom sees anyone but Poppy, now. I don't think it will be much longer."

Severus only nodded, not reacting to the sorrow in her voice. He knew everyone else would mourn Dumbledore, but he didn't plan to shed any tears for the old bastard, not now. There were very few people in the world he would grieve for, and he wasn't sure Dumbledore had ever been on that list. He focused on the chess game, letting the silence drag out until it became less uncomfortable and more companionable.

"Are you going to tell me what you're up to now?" she asked conversationally.

"I just did," he replied slowly.

"I don't mean the four of you. I mean you, specifically, Severus." Looking up from the chessboard, she fixed him with a gimlet-eyed stare that made him feel uncomfortably close to twelve years old again.

"What is it you want to know?" he asked cautiously.

"Who you are. Because frankly, Severus, I've never really been sure." She kept staring at him, with a focused intensity that made it obvious she could transform into a cat. He met her stare for stare, but it was an effort. "I don't think any of us were surprised when you joined the Death Eaters..."

The scar on his left arm started to itch furiously. Severus ignored it, as he ignored the old, bitter anger stirring somewhere deep; as if he'd had a choice. Voldemort and the Death Eaters were the only ones who would have him. Old wounds, and older scars, and no point dwelling on that now. He'd made his peace with it as much as possible.

Minerva continued quietly, "And then Albus told us – some of us – that you had changed sides, that you were now his spy. He wouldn't say why; he never has said why."

_You would never have believed it if he had, _Severus mused. Imagining how they would react to that particular revelation had provided him with a lot of dark amusement over the years. He only shrugged in response now. "I had my reasons."

"And since then," she continued as though he hadn't spoken, "you've been his creature. Oh, you've snarled and snapped and rebelled and found a thousand ways to oppose him, and you've always been the only one who could seriously infuriate him..."

"So nice to be appreciated," he muttered darkly.

"...But when he's given you a direct order, you've obeyed. Reluctantly, wriggling around it as much as possible and dragging your heels at every step, but you have. Until now. For some reason, Severus, you've turned your back on the only thing you've ever taken seriously... in order to follow a boy you have utterly despised from the moment you laid eyes on him, if not before then. So I would like to know why."

When he didn't answer, she snorted and returned her attention to the chessboard. "What you said about the plan not making sense is one thing. You're right, frankly, nobody could have expected you to adhere to the original plan – even Albus admitted it, after we'd discussed it. But I'll believe that You-Know-Who has decided to retire from world domination and become a ballet dancer before I'll believe that you would ever willingly follow Harry Potter."

"Now there's a horrifying mental image," he drawled, mostly out of reflex as his brain spun hurriedly into action. "The Dark Lord would look quite dreadful in a pink tutu and tights." He sat back and sighed. "If this is your long-winded way of saying that I'm a traitor, I've heard it all before, many, many times."

"It's not. I've never trusted you as far as I could throw you, but if you were going to betray us all you could have done so at any point, and you've certainly had plenty of opportunities to kill Harry since he's been living in your house. But I want an explanation, Severus."

"And I want a pile of gold higher than Hagrid's hut," he retorted irritably. "I picked the plan that had the greatest chance of success. I fail to see why that is so suspicious."

"You hate Harry," Minerva said flatly. "You have hated him since the moment you heard his name. You have hated him more intensely than I have ever seen you hate anyone – _including James. _You hate the boy more strongly than you did his father, for whatever warped reason."

He blinked, wondering briefly if that was true. He didn't think so, but it wasn't out of the realms of possibility, he had to admit. It was a very complicated situation, after all. "So? I don't have to like someone in order to work with them. Which is just as well, really."

"Severus, please don't make the mistake of thinking that I have gone senile," his colleague said crisply. "For you to willingly go anywhere near the boy, let alone take him into your house and spend months with him and his friends... there's a reason."

He returned his attention to the chessboard, noting absently that he could win in a dozen moves – not that either of them were really playing with their full skill. His mind raced, debating furiously; Minerva didn't trust him, and she was both strong and skilled, so he didn't much like his chances of managing to either Obliviate or Confund her. The Imperius curse would work – she wasn't good enough to block that, not from him – but an Unforgiveable was a bit of an overreaction to someone asking uncomfortable questions, even if it was tempting.

"Obviously there's a reason," he drawled, moving his rook. "I have never done anything without a reason in my entire life. Why do you seem to think that I will tell you what that reason is?"

"Because if you don't, Severus, I am going to take my suspicions to the rest of the Order, and when this mess is over, we will hunt you down." Her voice cracked like a whip, and ice slid down his spine. Breathing out slowly, he gathered the dark, quiet stillness of his mental ocean into him, feeling his muscles simultaneously tensing and relaxing as his senses extended in readiness.

"I don't take kindly to being threatened, Minerva," he said quietly, his voice emerging flat and cold. "What are you accusing me of?"

"Nothing... yet." Sitting back, she stared at him intently. "Which of them is it, Severus?"

He choked, giving her a horrified look. "_Which – _bloody _hell, _woman! Please tell me you're not suggesting..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, swallowing bile. "I may actually be sick." That wasn't an exaggeration; he could taste vomit.

"I didn't think it was either of the boys, but I had to ask," she muttered, sighing. "I hoped I was wrong. It's Hermione, then, is it? It had to be one of them. Nothing else makes any sense."

Severus tried to sneer at her, but most of his mind was still gibbering with horror at the notion of him and Potter. That was just too Freudian for words and unbelievably disturbing on every conceivable level, and quite a few inconceivable levels into the bargain. Swallowing hard and fighting to hang onto his breakfast, he cleared his throat and gave her an irritated look. "If you're quite finished giving me new nightmares, I'll ask again. What are you accusing me of?"

"I repeat, don't treat me as though I'm senile," she snapped. He recognised the look in her eyes now; this was the Head of Gryffindor bristling in the defence of one of her favourite cubs, and that meant he didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell.

Flexing his forearm to feel his wand in his sleeve, he began preparing himself, narrowing his eyes. "If you really thought I had designs on Miss Granger you would have tried to hex me by now. Don't be ridiculous."

"Severus, a blind man could see she's had a crush on you for the last year!"

For a moment, he wanted to laugh. _A blind man, hmm? And what does that make me? _He certainly hadn't seen it, not until Dilys told him. He arched a disdainful eyebrow. "She used to have a crush on Lockhart," he pointed out, smirking a little. "I'm about as far away from him as it's possible to get while still being a human male."

Minerva glared at him. "Don't be facetious. This is serious. If you've taken advantage..."

He searched for the anger that her words should have caused, and to his surprise he didn't find any. Only the quiet knowledge that she was wrong, and... He sighed and gave her a tired look, feeling rather sad. "You've known me since I was eleven, Minerva. Do you really believe I would do that?"

Her silence was its own answer, and he looked away, staring down at the chessboard. That hurt, but only for a moment; he could hear Hermione's voice. _"I do hate being smarter than everyone else. It's not my fault they were all idiots who didn't appreciate you." _He relaxed a little and pushed the pain away; Minerva had never really known him, not truly. Even finding him unconscious in a pool of his own blood in a corridor after he'd slit his own wrists hadn't taught her anything about him. It didn't matter.

"I haven't forced myself on her," he said wearily. "If I had, don't you think she – or one of her little friends – might have said something? They've all been back here without me, more than once. One of them would have told you, and they wouldn't have returned to my house. Besides, they're Gryffindors to their bones; all three of them would have fought me. I'm good, but I have to sleep sometimes."

She exhaled heavily. "She's a young girl, Severus, and you've been a master of manipulating people for decades. I wasn't suggesting force."

"Young doesn't mean stupid," he snapped, "and rape is rape whether it involves physical force or emotional blackmail. I strongly recommend you speak to her before you accuse me of anything else, Minerva, because if you insult me like that again I will make you pay for it."

"So there is something going on." Her eyes flashed, and her accent was thickening slightly. "Merlin, Severus, do you know what you've done?"

"Rather better than you do," he said coldly, focusing on keeping his temper. If he started a duel now he'd have half the Order attacking him within seconds. Angrily he scattered the chess pieces with his hand, ignoring their squeaks of protest, and stood up. "How _dare _you. For the first time in my entire pitiful, sorry existence, I finally have something good in my life, and I will _not _let you or anyone else take it away from me. I have done _nothing _wrong." Abruptly he choked on a bitter laugh. "But then, when has that ever mattered?"

"Severus..."

"Shut up. Yes, your petty suspicions are right, as if that's anything to be proud of. She did have a crush on me, and that has become something more. Consensually so. I have not coerced her in any way. We are both consenting adults and I am no longer her teacher, nor did anything untoward happen on the school grounds." Technically, that wasn't a lie; the Room of Requirement was a manifestation of Hogwarts Castle, it had not been built by human hands and it wasn't officially part of the school, since it was supposed to be off limits to students. Therefore, that first wonderful kiss didn't count. It was a technicality, but one he was prepared to hide behind. Their relationship hadn't been consummated until they had both left school, and that was what was important.

Minerva was standing by this time, glaring into his eyes. It was rare for anyone to make eye contact with him for more than a few seconds, he reflected absently in the small corner of his mind that never seemed to shut up; most people found his eyes a little unnerving even when he wasn't deliberately trying to make them uncomfortable. "I hope for your sake that you're telling the truth, Severus Snape," she told him thickly. "Because if you're lying to me, if you've done anything to that girl, I'll see you dead."

"Talk to her," he said coldly. "And when you have, I expect a lengthy apology. In fact, it need not wait for you to speak to Hermione. _Phineas_!"

"There's no need to shout," the portrait drawled, moving into view and smirking at Minerva's startled expression. "Good morning, Severus. You're looking... well."

Severus found himself smiling despite his anger; this was going to be fun. Stepping back, he crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at the portrait who had been one of his only allies. "I should hope so. I assume you've been listening the entire time?"

"Of course. I did consider following Miss Granger, but I did speak to her recently, whereas I haven't seen you for a few months."

"And Dilys ordered you to update her on my... health," he finished, his lips twitching.

Minerva gave the portrait an unfriendly look. "You knew about this? It is your duty to report _–_"

"Oh, stop overreacting, woman," Phineas told her, sneering. "You couldn't be more wrong. Severus and his young woman spent months making eyes at one another when they thought the other one wasn't looking, and until fairly recently neither of them realised it was mutual. Nothing inappropriate happened in school, and if you believe you're going to talk Miss Granger into leaving him now, then I have the deeds to London Bridge to sell you. I can't think of anything that would persuade that young Gryffindor to go anywhere. And if you must know, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are fully aware of the situation. They seem to approve, in a slightly horrified sort of way."

Severus took a few moments to deeply enjoy the stunned expression on his former co-worker's face, giving her his most insufferably smug and arrogant smirk when she turned to gape at him. He was seriously annoyed at having to admit to anything so soon, and offended by her accusation even though he had more or less expected it, but this was still turning out to be quite fun, in a twisted manner.

After an embarrassingly long pause, Minerva cleared her throat and started fidgeting, avoiding his eyes now. At least she had the decency to be ashamed of herself, he reflected, allowing himself to relax fractionally. "Well?" he asked crisply.

She sighed. "I apologise. But you can't blame me for assuming the worst. And I will certainly be talking to Hermione when I see her."

_I suppose that's the best I'm going to get. _He rolled his eyes. "Why do I think I'm going to get very, very bored of this conversation by the seventh time I have to have it?" he asked rhetorically. Maybe they should both just elope to South America or something and be done with it. "I would advise you to be a little more circumspect when asking Hermione if I assaulted her," he added coolly. "Her temper is easily a match for yours, and she has a protective streak a mile wide." Although that was a fight he wouldn't mind seeing. He did love hearing her defending him.

Narrowing her eyes, Minerva gave him a look that was partly annoyed and partly guilty. "Make sure you don't hurt her in any way, Severus. I can't believe you've been this foolish. I hope you've thought about this."

_Of course not. She was just the closest woman available to scratch my itch. _Resisting the urge to roll his eyes again – or draw his wand; he was getting fed up now – he sighed. "I spent the best part of a year thinking about it." And the best part of another year _not _thinking about it, too. "Astonishingly enough, Minerva, it did occur to me that there might be a few problems. Neither Hermione nor I are stupid, and we know what we're doing. I didn't go into this lightly."

He didn't much like the way she was looking at him now, a weighing, measuring sort of stare that was more speculative than anything else. "This is serious, isn't it?"

"There's no need to sound so surprised," he growled. "I am human, you know."

She laughed softly and shook her head. "Oh, stop sulking. It doesn't suit you, and you have to admit it's reasonable for anyone to doubt you. You've never looked twice at a woman since I've known you; for a while I wondered if you went the other way, although you've never looked at a man either."

Ignoring the twitch under his eye, Severus gave her a disgusted look. "And who was there at Hogwarts for me to look at?" he asked irritably. He had no interest in being anyone's toy-boy and all his female colleagues were quite a bit older than he was, not to mention the fact that most of them had at one time or another given him harsh and undeserved detentions or turned a blind eye to the bullies who stalked him. And, of course, the minor problem of his being an ugly git that everyone disliked.

"Dolores liked you," she replied with an almost mischievous smile, and he shuddered.

"I would actually almost prefer Potter. You're a sick woman. Are we done here? I need to go and be violently ill somewhere." And he was dying for a smoke.

"For the moment, yes, although we're certainly not finished with this conversation. How long are you going to be staying here?"

"A few days, perhaps. I'm not sure." Until Dumbledore died, was the honest answer, but even he wasn't enough of a bastard to say that. About to leave, he paused and turned his head to glance at her sideways. "Does anyone else share your... suspicions?" he asked warily. Hermione was well liked, and the last thing he wanted was the Order banding together to lynch him. _Thank fuck Moody's dead._

"I doubt it, luckily for you. I will tell Molly – don't look at me like that. She's unofficially my second in command now, and she needs to know what's going on with the four of you even if you would rather she didn't. She would find out anyway, especially if young Mr Weasley knows. I won't tell anyone else, though. Does anyone else know?"

"Poppy Pomfrey does," Phineas provided from the wall; the portrait was clearly enjoying watching this.

Minerva looked irritated. "I'll be having words with her as well, then. All right, Severus, you can go."

He hadn't been so glad to leave a room in a long time.

* * *

><p>Hermione didn't even get a chance to unpack before being cornered; she had barely put her bag down on the bed she had used before when there was a knock at the door, and as soon as she turned around she found herself being hugged by Poppy Pomfrey. "Hello," she managed breathlessly when the older witch let her go, smiling.<p>

"Hello," the nurse replied gravely, smiling back at her. "It's good to see you, dear. We didn't get a chance to talk on your birthday, really. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You look well. In fact, you look blooming. Am I right to assume a certain man is responsible for that lovely smile?" the mediwitch asked archly.

"As if Phineas hasn't already told you," she retorted, flicking a hand to non-verbally shut the door before sitting on the bed as Poppy came to sit beside her.

"True," Poppy agreed unrepentantly. "I still want to hear from you, though, since there is no chance of Severus telling me anything if I manage to hunt him down. Things are going well, I assume? I don't think I've ever seen you so happy."

"Couldn't be better," Hermione replied, leaning back against the wall and trying to stop smiling. "Well, it could, I suppose, if we didn't have to worry about the war and if Harry and Ron weren't living with us and pretending they're not bothered by it, but still."

"I can imagine that might be a little awkward," the nurse observed dryly. "Harry and Severus under the same roof was difficult enough somewhere the size of Hogwarts. Where are the boys, anyway?"

"Ginny ambushed us as soon as we got through the front door," Hermione reported with a grin. "She jumped on Harry and dragged him off somewhere. Ron and I are supposed to be talking to Mr Weasley when we find him, but it's a bit crowded around here at the moment, isn't it? Ron's off playing with his brothers, I think. I'll go and find them later on. If Mrs Weasley lets Harry live, anyway. I don't understand why she was so angry – is it just because she's protective of Ginny? I mean, she adores Harry."

"It's because Miss Weasley isn't of age yet," Poppy explained. "Technically we abide by the Muggle age of consent laws, but realistically the legal age for any sexual activity is seventeen. It's both more and less serious than it is amongst Muggles; Harry won't be in any official trouble, but unofficially he's going to pay for it quite heavily. Ah, to be young again... In any case, we were discussing you and Severus. Have there been any problems between you? I do know what that man's like."

"Phineas asked that too," she noted, shaking her head. "No, everything's been fine. I think Severus is worried about doing something to spoil things, so he's been on his best behaviour, and he's starting to relax and accept that I know what I'm doing by now. The biggest problem has been him not believing me, but he's getting over that, slowly." _Pessimistic bastard that he is, _she added fondly.

"I'm glad to hear it. He's as stubborn as a rock, but he's not an idiot, most of the time. So when did the two of you finally give in?"

"Harry's birthday. Well, just before."

"Ah. That makes sense. Almost two months, then?"

"It seems longer than that, actually, but yes," she confirmed, fiddling with her hair idly.

Poppy frowned at her, before suddenly reaching out and catching her wrist. Startled, Hermione tried to pull away before realising what had caught the nurse's eye, and a moment later she found herself enveloped in another hug.

"I take it congratulations are in order?" the woman asked, trying to sound unconcerned despite her smile.

"Thank you," she replied almost shyly. It was nice to find someone who was happy for her; Ron and Harry just seemed confused. Then again, they were teenage boys, and probably didn't even realise they were supposed to be happy.

"When did this happen? Phineas certainly didn't mention it. I shall have to have a word with him."

"He probably doesn't know," Hermione said in the portrait's defence, smiling. "It was a couple of nights ago, after I came back from here on my birthday."

"Have you set a date?"

"No, not yet. We haven't exactly talked about the future very much, with everything else going on." She wriggled back on the bed to sit more comfortably against the wall, drawing her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms around them, tilting her hand to look at her ring again. "Once the war's done, I want to go back to Hogwarts and take my NEWTs, and Severus agrees. He says he won't go back under any circumstances, so I suppose it'll be after I graduate. I still don't know what I want to do when I leave school, really, though."

"I'm not surprised he doesn't want to go back," Poppy noted. "He never did like teaching. It wasn't so bad with the older students, the ones with the interest and the skill, but Severus never had the patience for the younger ones who were only in the class because it was compulsory. As for you, though, Hermione – I know you originally only came to me because you wanted to be able to help your friends if they got hurt, but you do have a real knack for Healing, you know. If you decide to continue with it, I'll gladly write you a reference."

"Thank you," she replied gratefully. "I have thought about it. I suppose there's no rush to decide, though. It's going to be a while yet before everything's over, I think. That reminds me... how is Professor Dumbledore? Phineas said it wasn't a good prognosis..."

Poppy sighed, looking a little sad. "No, it's not. He's too ill for visitors now, really. I don't think it's going to be much longer. I'm glad Severus is here – Minerva explained about the Vow. Do you know if it's still in force?"

"No. Severus hasn't said anything about it. I told him what Phineas said and he just nodded and changed the subject; if he knows, he's not saying, but I don't think he does." Hermione hesitated for a moment before meeting the older witch's eyes. "What happens to Professor Dumbledore if the Vow isn't in force?"

After a short pause, the nurse sighed again. "Two weeks, perhaps. Certainly no longer than that. I'm doing what I can, but the curse is spreading rapidly now. I can keep him free of pain, most of the time, but it's not easy. I'm not licensed to take action, Hermione; nobody who works exclusively with children is. Only high-standing Healers have that sort of permission anyway."

She translated that, silently. Madam Pomfrey couldn't use the Killing Curse to give Dumbledore a quick death. That meant Phineas was right and Severus was the only one who could. Whether he would do so without the Unbreakable Vow forcing him into it was another matter entirely. At least he knew what was happening; she didn't want to have to tell him.

"By the way, Hermione, before I go... not many people know about you and Severus yet, do they?"

"No. You, Phineas, Harry and Ron. And Dilys, I suppose; I'm sure Phineas told her." Oh, how she wished she could have witnessed that.

"I'm sure you're aware that there will be a lot of things said, when it becomes public," the nurse said carefully, and Hermione nodded. "It may help if you remember that I can confirm that you were still a virgin in May. I don't record it officially, but it is picked up in your health checks, and if a girl loses their virginity too young I have a discreet talk with them to make sure nothing untoward happened. It means you can at least prove you were of age and that you didn't take any examinations or anything so none of your academic work was compromised. It won't spare you the gossip, of course, but it will at least negate any possible legal trouble."

"I didn't know that. Thank you," she said, relieved. "That will help." And at least Rita Skeeter was still unregistered, so she still had that hold over the woman. Other journalists would probably write filth about her, but she didn't think many would dare badmouth Severus too much in case he came looking for them. If neither of them got into any official trouble over this, they could live with rumours and bitching.

* * *

><p>Going in search of Ron later – it was probably time to rescue Harry before Mrs Weasley finally found his hiding place – Hermione encountered Severus on the stairs, looking somewhat harassed and irritable. "Poppy spotted my ring," she told him in an undertone, smiling at him. "She'll probably try and hug you when she sees you. Be warned."<p>

"She had better not," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Unfortunately I suspect Minerva isn't going to want to hug you when she gets hold of you. You might want to stay out of her way."

"She knows?" Hermione asked in dismay. Her Head of House probably wasn't going to approve.

He sighed. "She worked out – accurately – that if I was willing to follow Potter, it could only be because I was interested in one of you three. Short of attacking her and modifying her memory quite heavily, there wasn't much I could do. I didn't even have to confirm it. It might help convince her that I'm not playing games if she spots the ring, I suppose, but I wouldn't count on it." He sounded really quite annoyed; obviously the discussion hadn't gone well.

"I can tell her that much. Was it that bad?"

He shrugged a thin shoulder uneasily. "It could have been worse. She has never had a particularly high opinion of me, and she is fiercely protective of her favourites. She is at least convinced that I didn't take advantage of you, or she would have hexed me."

Attempting to lighten the mood, she grinned at him. "I don't have a problem with you taking advantage of me."

A brief glimmer of humour sparkled in his dark eyes for a moment and he relaxed slightly. "I don't advise telling her that. Although it might be worth it to see her face... for a widow she can be surprisingly prudish sometimes."

"She's still going to be my teacher when I go back," she pointed out, privately somewhat surprised to learn that McGonagall had been married. "I'd rather not upset her too much. I'll talk to her later and convince her that I'm fine. Honestly, if even Harry's convinced you're not evil, I don't see why anyone else should have a problem. Anyway, speaking of taking advantage of me, will I see you later?" she asked hopefully.

He hesitated for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "Too risky," he said reluctantly. "There seems to be a full house here right now."

"You'll have to make it up to me once we're home, then."

The slow smile that earned her made her feel warm all over. "I think I can manage that."

* * *

><p>Severus lay awake with his arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling pensively. There was no point in trying to sleep; even if he did manage it, his nightmares would be horrific. They always were, when he slept alone. Besides, he found that he couldn't get comfortable – his body couldn't remember how he usually slept and every position felt wrong. It was tempting, very tempting, to sneak down the corridor to Hermione, but the house was surprisingly busy; every bedroom held at least one Order member.<p>

Being caught now would be very bad. He wasn't sure if Minerva had cornered Hermione yet, but since he was still alive and uncastrated she seemed to be convinced that he wasn't quite as much of a villain as she had thought. Molly Weasley... well, he wasn't sure how she would react. It could go either way, really; she wasn't always easy to predict, even for him. As for Poppy, well, the woman was insane, frankly. There had been absolutely no need to hug him like that, especially since she knew damned well that he hated it. At least she hadn't ruffled his hair. Anyway, nobody else would react so benignly, and he really couldn't be bothered to get into any more fights; he didn't have the heart for it any more.

He had a horrible feeling he knew why the Order had all gathered; he hoped he was wrong, but the timing was too much of a coincidence. They, too, were waiting for Dumbledore to die. Irritably he scratched his wrist again, shifting uneasily, before abandoning all pretence of trying to rest. Sitting up, he crossed his legs loosely, leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, his breathing automatically slowing to the regular even rhythm of meditation as his mind emptied and his thoughts stopped. Don't think about it yet, not until he had to.

* * *

><p><em>I wasn't planning so many conversations in this chapter, but that's what happened. We're not done talking yet, either, but then things will start moving again.<br>_


	45. Chapter 45

_Onwards we go, then... Hermione talking to Minerva happens off screen, I'm afraid, because I couldn't get it right and it started really annoying me, so I cut it. These things happen.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"It takes love over gold<br>And mind over matter  
>To do what you do, what you must<br>When the things that you hold  
>They can fall and be shattered<br>They can run through your fingers like dust..."**  
>– Dire Straits, 'Love Over Gold'.<p>

* * *

><p>It was both funny and a bit pathetic, really, Hermione reflected in some amusement. For almost eighteen years she'd slept on her own quite happily, except for the occasions when Crookshanks deigned to grace her feet with his presence if he had nothing better to do at night. And yet all that had apparently been undone by two months of sharing a bed with Severus; she had found it almost impossible to sleep without him snuggled up against her back, and if her dreams after she had finally fallen asleep were any indication then she had very quickly become accustomed to regular sex. The room had seemed far too quiet without his soft snoring, and too cold without his warmth beside her, and her body missed him.<p>

It didn't look like Severus had slept much either, if at all, but that wasn't a surprise. She knew he rarely slept in a strange place anyway, and there was a lot on his mind. She didn't have much time to watch him over breakfast anyway – he wasn't eating, which she would have to scold him for later – because the full Weasley clan were present, minus the still-absent Percy, and it was impossible to hear yourself think what with the twins teasing a blushing Harry and Ginny and Ron trying to talk to his father about getting a blood sample later.

Professor McGonagall wasn't present this morning, which was possibly just as well. Hermione had spoken to her Transfiguration teacher – at length – last night after the older witch had found her in the library and asked to speak to her. It hadn't been a fun conversation. Hermione was a little embarrassed to remember it; she hadn't lost her temper like that in a long time, but she couldn't stand one more instance of someone judging Severus so unjustly and something had snapped and the next thing she knew she'd been shouting loudly enough to leave her hoarse. Ranting, really; it had taken a few minutes for her to calm down. Professor McGonagall had stared at her, utterly lost for words, her expression cycling rapidly between shock and outrage before abruptly starting to laugh.

Her parting shot as she left the room had been, "You're more of a match for him than you know. I almost feel sorry for him." Hermione still wasn't sure she quite understood that, but either way, she was going to tread carefully now. She wasn't sure if Severus knew exactly what had happened, but he did look to be in a marginally better mood this morning, even if he was tired.

When she returned to the library after breakfast, she found Severus already there, and in distracted-scholar mode; barely looking up from his notes as she came in, he said almost absently, "I'm glad you're here. If you don't have anything else to do today, would you like to research how we're going to break down Arthur's blood to extract any traces of Nagini's thaumic signature?"

Hermione blinked at him. "I assumed you were going to do it."

He shrugged, glancing up through the curtains of his hair with a slightly wry smile. "I could do, but to be honest you're likely to be better. You already know something of working with the blood spectrum, and I believe your Arithmancy marks are higher than mine; it was never one of my best subjects."

Unable to hold back a smile at such a compliment, she teased gently, "I don't think I've ever heard you admit that you can't do something before."

"Don't let it go to your head." He sat back and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossed loosely at the ankles. "I've been watching you during our planning sessions, and at Gringotts, and everything else we've done," he said more seriously. "I'm not sure you even realise you're doing it, but you keep holding back to give the boys a chance to take part, and to try and stay out of the limelight and avoid notice. I think perhaps you always have to some extent – you were always the brains of the Trio, but you've never admitted it as far as I know. Remember the talk I gave you on your strengths and weaknesses, Hermione. It's all right to be smarter than other people. It's all right to take charge of the things you are good at; there will be times when you'll have to hang back and let someone else shine because it's one of their skills, and it will balance out. It's not a sin to be clever and it's not arrogant or hurtful to acknowledge that you're smarter than your friends. They would be the first to admit it. It's all right to be smarter than other people," he repeated softly, watching her intently.

She sat down opposite him, staring at the floor for a few minutes while she got herself back under control. She'd told him a little about her childhood before Hogwarts, but she certainly hadn't told him everything. "How did you know?" she asked finally.

His dark eyes were soft as he looked back at her. "You certainly weren't the only child to have been mocked and teased for being brainy. It takes one to know one, after all. I have grown very skilled at spotting children who were bullied... even if I occasionally made things worse rather than doing anything about it," he added, looking away.

That hadn't really been an apology, but she suspected it was intended to be, and for the moment she was willing to accept it. At some point – probably in the middle of a fight about something entirely unrelated – she was sure they would end up having a discussion about certain things he'd said or done; even when talking about what he had said about her teeth in fourth year, he hadn't apologised then either. But for now, this was enough, as he slid his notes over towards her and quietly left the room and she settled down to read.

* * *

><p>Hermione was in the kitchen after lunch, helping to clean up rather half-heartedly with her head buzzing with blood formulae, when Mrs Weasley clapped her hands to attract attention and looked around at her children and the others in the room. "Everyone scat, please; I want to talk to Hermione."<p>

"Subtle," Harry muttered, giving her a sympathetic look as he unashamedly bolted for the door with the others. Hermione sighed as she watched her friends scramble to exit, most of them looking puzzled and Ron looking rather worried; at least Severus wasn't here. He'd disappeared upstairs with his lunch ages ago, although she'd bet he hadn't eaten it.

"I suppose Professor McGonagall spoke to you this morning," she said tiredly when everyone else had gone, briefly and suspiciously eyeing the small picture frame by the door for signs of movement – there was no way Phineas wasn't eavesdropping if he'd heard what was going on. Sitting down, she suppressed another sigh and rested her chin on her hand, staring at the table. "Yes, it's true. No, he didn't force me. Yes, I know what I'm doing. Yes, I know how young I am. No, I don't think I'm making a mistake." She didn't want to be rude, but she wasn't sure she could take anyone else questioning her right now.

When there was no reply, she risked a glance at the older witch and found her smiling. "Minerva said you weren't very happy with her. Don't look so worried, Hermione; I'm not going to repeat the same questions. There wouldn't be any point, would there? She wasn't trying to insult either of you, you know. She's just worried about you."

"I know," Hermione admitted with a sigh. "I didn't mean to lose my temper. I just get tired of people doubting him. I've heard some of the things the others say behind his back." She bit her lip, glancing up uncertainly. "If you didn't want to make sure I wasn't being coerced, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked.

Mrs Weasley sat across from her, placing a cup of tea in front of her and picking up her own drink; the older witch smiled gently. "I actually wanted to ask if you were all right with things, dear. Minerva means well, but she does tend to focus on one problem and overlook the rest, and I remember what it's like to be young and in love under confusing circumstances. Arthur and I were very young when we married, and it was all rather overwhelming."

"You do believe it's love, then?" she asked hopefully.

"I certainly believe it is for you. I'm less sure with Severus, simply because I don't know him as well, but I can't see him doing this on a whim, not with all the problems it's going to cause. And I certainly don't believe he would force you into anything, physically or otherwise," she added with an unladylike snort.

"Really?" Hermione asked rather doubtfully. "Almost everyone else seems to..."

"I've seen too much of him and of the rest of the Order to take the general opinion at face value. But we'll get to that in a minute. I was being serious, Hermione – are you all right with all this? It's happening quite fast, after all..."

Hermione nodded, relaxing a little and taking a sip of her tea. "I know, but it's not as if it was terribly unexpected. I mean, I didn't realise he felt the same, but I've felt this way about him for quite a long time, so I've got used to it, sort of."

"And the engagement?" Mrs Weasley asked gently.

"No, that one was a bit of a surprise," she admitted, smiling at the memory. "To him as well as me, I think. But I meant it when I said yes. We won't be thinking of marrying for quite a while yet, anyway. Definitely not until after the war, and probably not for a while after that – I want to finish school first."

"And what then? What will you do for a living, or Severus for that matter? Will you settle down and raise a family? I don't want to sound like I'm interrogating you, Hermione. I just want to reassure myself that you've thought about these things. Women have to think about the future more than men do."

"We haven't discussed it yet. We will do, soon, but we've got important things to do with the war to get out of the way first before we'll be able to think about personal things." Hermione bit her lip. "We haven't talked about children. I really have no idea what he thinks, but I'm _pretty _sure he isn't interested in fatherhood, and I definitely don't want a family. That might change when I'm older, I suppose," she added before Mrs Weasley could say anything, privately adding, _when Hell freezes over, _"but right now I don't. We will need to talk about it. I don't know what I want to do after my NEWTs, either, but I definitely want a career. All Severus has said is that he's not going to teach any more, so we'll need to talk about that, too."

"Don't leave it too late, Hermione. The war is important, but this is the rest of your life, and that's important too." Mrs Weasley got up to refill her tea. "I have to ask this, dear; I'd be a poor mother if I didn't. What about Ron?"

She smiled ruefully, accepting the fresh cup. "It's okay. Ron and I... we wouldn't have worked anyway, even without Severus. I do love him, but not like that. We'd kill each other, I think; we fight more than we're friends. That's fine with Harry as a buffer, but if it was just the two of us... it would end very badly. Even when I did like Ron, I could never really see a future with him. I don't think we want the same things out of life. He agrees," she added, looking up. "I've talked to him about it, before I was with Severus. Harry spotted it first."

"So the boys do know?"

"We're all living in the same small house. I doubt we could have kept it from them for this long. But yes, they know – it was Harry who worked out that I liked Severus in the first place, actually, and I used to talk to them about it sometimes before I knew he felt the same." Hermione smiled. "They've both been really good about it, actually. Apparently Ron went mental when Harry told him, but I didn't see that. They do sometimes still look a bit confused by it all, but really, they've been great." She stifled a laugh. "Mostly I think they're scared of giving Severus an excuse to kill them."

Mrs Weasley laughed softly. "I shouldn't tell you this, but there have been bets going around the Order about how long it will be before he snaps and brutally slaughters Harry. Have there been any problems? I don't for a moment expect that Harry would tell anyone if there were, but I'm hoping you'll be more honest."

She shook her head. "No, nothing major. They're working out their differences. Harry knows the reasons why Severus always hated him now, and they're dealing with it. It's pretty complicated." She smiled. "Severus knows I won't let him do anything to my friends, so he's behaving himself."

"Is it just because of James?" Mrs Weasley asked calmly. "I always thought there had to be more to it than that, but I was never sure, and obviously I could never have asked Severus without getting my head bitten off."

Biting her lip to stifle a laugh at that, Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not just because of James, but that was definitely a large part of it." She fell silent, glancing at the older witch, who looked at her and smiled a little sadly.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'm not one of those who dismisses it as a stupid schoolboy grudge, not any more. I thought it was, at first, but the more I saw Severus and Sirius interact, the more I realised it must go far deeper than that." She shook her head, putting her teacup down and leaning forward. "It doesn't take a master spy to see how much they hated one another, and Severus always seemed to come off worst."

"Why did nobody else see it, then?" Hermione asked, somewhat exasperated. "I always felt as though I was the only one." A thought occurred to her. "Were you at school with them?"

"No. Arthur and I left a couple of years before they joined, I believe. I don't know what happened between them at school, but it obviously wasn't good. They had no contact with one another until the second war started, Hermione – only the senior Order members knew who our spy was during the first war. I think precisely so none of the Marauders would find out that Severus was still in their lives."

_Or so Lily wouldn't? _Hermione wondered briefly how they might have reacted. Obviously James and Sirius would have predictably reacted the way Sirius had this time around, as Moody and some of the others did, assuming that Severus was lying and working to betray them all; what would Lily have thought, if she'd known her former friend had turned away from the Death Eaters for her sake? She shook it off and looked back at Mrs Weasley.

"I hadn't even heard his name before Dumbledore brought him into a meeting with a few of us," the older witch continued thoughtfully. "Most of us hadn't, but Albus and Minerva knew him, obviously, and they were both looking at him as though he was dangerous, which didn't create a good impression for the rest of us. And Alastor would never have trusted any Death Eater, no matter who it was – he was staring at this nervous young man as though he was You-Know-Who himself. Severus couldn't have been more than twenty, and he looked absolutely terrified. I didn't understand why they were looking at him the way they did; he certainly didn't look like a threat.

"The Order wasn't structured in quite the same way then; there were several circles, if you like, and the one Arthur and I were in was the only one to have any contact with Severus. I was usually up and about at night with one or other of the boys, and that was usually when he came to report after meetings with You-Know-Who, so I saw a fair bit of him. He was... well, it took him a few weeks to get his confidence up, and then he started snapping and sneering at us once he was brave enough to stand up for himself. I haven't heard anyone who can beat him at sarcasm," she said almost fondly. "He was never a nice man, really. But on his own, away from the group, I was always surprised at how polite he was; he was never rude to me, and he tried to keep out of the way if I was busy. And he was quite often hurt, too, although he always refused to admit there was anything wrong and would get up and storm out if I pressed him. He hid it well, but it was obviously taking a terrible toll on him; I saw him almost crying once."

Finishing her tea, Mrs Weasley shrugged, her expression pensive. "I was never really sure about him one way or the other until the night my brothers were killed. Fabian and Gideon were killed by five Death Eaters, although Dolohov is the only one I know the name of. I remember that Severus came directly to the Burrow to tell me, instead of going to our Headquarters at the time to report to Dumbledore as he should have done; we were interrupted by Albus' Patronus several times while he was telling me what happened. I asked him why, afterwards, and he shrugged awkwardly and said he thought I deserved to know first. It was completely out of character for him and nothing like his normal behaviour, so I decided that the way he usually behaved was probably a bit of an act."

"That sounds like him," Hermione agreed softly, smiling a little. It was exactly like Severus to do something like that, and to snap and snarl and do anything to avoid it ever being mentioned again. "He always hates it if anyone points out that he's done something nice or honourable. He feels safer when he's growling at people, I think."

Mrs Weasley nodded. "I was there the night Albus told Sirius and Remus that Severus was a double agent in service to the Order. They... didn't react well. Remus accepted that Albus knew what he was doing – eventually – but Sirius was... furious. Disturbingly so. And the first time they were both in an Order meeting... Albus threw them both out in the end; they were about to draw wands on one another. I've lost count of how many arguments I witnessed, but it was always Sirius losing his temper and Severus turning very cold and spiteful. And no matter the circumstances, it was always Severus who was told to stop it, even if all he had done to set Sirius off was walk into the room. I admit it was usually Severus who started it, but not always. And although I very frequently overheard Sirius saying some truly nasty things about Severus, I don't believe it ever happened the other way around."

Hermione shrugged. "I just can't understand why everyone assumes Severus would have been stupid enough to start a war against four popular boys when he was on his own. Even the people who don't like him admit that he's clever, and everyone insists he must be self-serving because he's a Slytherin, but somehow they think the feud with the Marauders was his fault? It never made sense to me even when I hated him too."

"You know, that's a very good point. I hadn't really thought of it in those terms before, but you're right. Anyway, that's why I don't have quite the same view of Severus as the rest of the Order do. Despite all seven of our children constantly complaining about Professor Snape's teaching methods," she added with a laugh. "It never did any of you much harm to have a strict teacher. The Herbology teacher before Pomona Sprout was an unholy terror, and so were one or two of our many Defence teachers. That said, he does go far too far on occasion..."

"He knows," Hermione said softly. "Some of the time I'm not sure he even realised he was going that far until he'd said it, and other times he just lost his temper. He does know. We've talked about a couple of the things he's said to me over the years, and some of his behaviour towards Harry. He finds it almost impossible to ever apologise for anything – not out of pride, he just genuinely can't manage it gracefully. He does try and behave, but... he's not suited to teaching school-age students. He gets too frustrated and it makes him irritable. I know he's pleased about not having to go back. I sometimes think Dumbledore shouldn't have made him stay so long, but I suppose it was necessary." _And I suppose I wouldn't have ended up with him, would I?_

Mrs Weasley nodded thoughtfully. "Well, my point was that he is very unpopular. Unfairly so, perhaps, but he is. You're not going to be able to keep this a secret forever, Hermione, and when it goes public..."

She nodded. "It's going to be horrible. I know. Most of the Order will never speak to me again. Sirius and Moody will probably come back from the dead just to yell at Severus. We'll probably both get hate mail, and the papers will be full of ghastly stories."

"Are you prepared to deal with that?"

"I don't really care, to be honest. My best friends don't mind. I'm a bit worried about my parents, but I don't think they'll react _too _badly. The people I respect – Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, you – are okay with it. I can cope with people I don't know not liking me; I went through it when I was fourteen. I'm sure it'll be a bit upsetting when it happens, but it's not going to affect my life, really. Besides... Severus is worth it."

The older witch smiled a little, before looking serious once more. "It's going to be worse than when you were fourteen, Hermione. You were still a child then. You're an adult now, and they're going to trash your reputation and call you every foul name under the sun. You'll be called a slut and a whore and accused of everything that nasty-minded people can imagine."

"I know a Healer who can prove that I was still a virgin at the beginning of May this year," Hermione said flatly. "They can say what they like."

"Poppy is a valuable ally," Mrs Weasley agreed, before leaning forward again. "That does bring me onto my final point, dear," she said gently. "Is there anything you want to ask me? I know you haven't been able to speak to your mother, and I'm not sure how they treat such things in the Muggle world..."

_Oh, God. _Hermione fought the blush with everything she had, battling an almost equally strong desire to laugh; she certainly hadn't expected this. _Absolutely not. _She had a good relationship with her mother, but it had never been the sort where either of them would feel comfortable discussing it; she'd had sex education in Year Six the year before starting at Hogwarts, and she'd known the general concept long before then from various documentaries on television and from all the things children overheard and picked up accidentally, and any girl with an inquiring mind and access to a large library didn't need formal education on the subject. She'd never understood how the other girls could be comfortable discussing it in a group; it had always seemed as though it should be private, to her.

"No, thank you," she managed to reply when she could speak without stammering or laughing. "I appreciate the offer, but... everything's fine." _I can't wait to see Severus' face when I tell him about this. _Frankly, although there were still one or two things she was a little curious about that they hadn't tried yet, if she was going to ask anyone it would be Severus himself and she'd rather experiment than actually ask about it. Absolutely nobody else needed to know.

* * *

><p>All things considered, it had been a bit of a strange day, Hermione reflected that night. The talk with Mrs Weasley had been very unexpected, but it had also been enlightening, if a bit embarrassing at times as well – she supposed that seven children would give any woman a practical and matter-of-fact outlook on life and love. It had left her feeling more confident, anyway; there would be a lot of problems, but nothing she couldn't deal with; nothing <em>they <em>couldn't deal with. She did wonder if Severus knew that he had a friend in Mrs Weasley; somehow, she doubted it.

Aside from that conversation, she had spent most of the rest of the day in the library, reviewing what she knew of blood analysis, supplemented by notes from Poppy, and studying Severus' notes. He would be there when the time came to analyse Mr Weasley's blood and he would talk her through it if she needed it, but he had made it clear that he thought she could do it without his aid. Strangely, she didn't feel frightened by that; nervous, yes, and she knew she'd ask him to check what she was doing just to be on the safe side, but his quiet confidence in her made it easier to have faith in herself.

Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling pensively; she was tired, but sleep wasn't coming any easier tonight than it had done yesterday. Speaking with Mrs Weasley today had been nice, but she really missed her parents, and had done since accepting Severus' rather panicky proposal. She wanted to share this with her family, as well as her friends, and she couldn't. Not until Voldemort was dead. Sometimes it felt like her whole life was being put on hold until Voldemort was dead; and if she felt like this after only a year or two of it, how must Severus feel, after a decade and a half of waiting to be allowed to live his own life? Although she supposed he hadn't been waiting for that at all; he'd never thought he would have a life worth living.

"Brooding?" a quiet voice asked from the wall, and Hermione rolled her head to the side to glance at the small dark frame, although there wasn't enough light for her to see the portrait.

"Trying not to, but yes." An idle thought occurred to her. "I suppose you were watching, that night last summer, weren't you?"

"Hmm?"

"When I asked Severus to sit with me so I could sleep."

"Yes." Phineas sounded like he was smiling. "He stared at the wall until you sounded like you were sleeping; then he turned his head and watched you. He stayed there for almost an hour, just watching you sleep, before he left. I've no idea what he was thinking; even by his usual standards, his face was expressionless. He loves you very deeply, you know, Granger," he added, apropos of absolutely nothing.

"I know," she replied softly. Severus had never said so, and possibly never would, but she did know he loved her. It would be good to hear him say it, even if only once, but she didn't think he was capable of it yet. One day, perhaps she would find out the full story of what had happened to him to leave him so damaged, but it didn't matter right now.

"Is it just your brooding keeping you awake?" the Slytherin asked archly. "I inquire because you're not the only insomniac in this house at the moment. It seems he misses you, too."

"He's never a sound sleeper," she answered, smiling a little. "You can't know it's because of me. There's no way he'd have said anything."

"Stop bickering with me and go to him, fool Gryffindor," he told her bluntly. "Nobody else on this floor is awake. Stay close to the wall in the hallway and the floor won't creak. Neither of you will be fit to live with tomorrow if you don't, and things are going to start moving again soon. Besides, you need to start learning to be a Slytherin; if you want him, go and get him."

Hermione hesitated. Every instinct told her no, told her to stay here and be a good girl and not to take the risk, but... She grinned. _Slytherin, or Gryffindor? _Sitting up, she swung her legs out of bed. "You're a bad influence. I think you spend too much time talking to Dilys."

* * *

><p>She didn't bother knocking on his door; what would be the point? He wouldn't have warded it, instead trusting to the fact that nobody would even think of disturbing him; he'd know she was the only one who would walk in without announcing herself first.<p>

His curtains were open when she slipped inside; the door didn't creak due to the silencing spells he had ringed his room with. Severus' room was at the front of the house, and the Muggle street lamps outside shone into the room, much as they did back at Spinner's End. The bed was still made, and hadn't been slept in; the door clicked shut behind her and she turned to find Severus regarding her with his head cocked to the side quizzically. He was only half dressed, his shirt hanging open over his bare chest, and his wand dangled loosely from his hand.

She nodded to it, smiling. "Expecting trouble?"

"Always," he replied lightly. "You never know when some foolish Gryffindor might come sneaking around, up to mischief." He stepped around her to put the wand on the bedside table before turning to face her and arching an eyebrow. "You realise this is a bad idea."

"Then tell me to leave," she murmured, padding barefoot across the worn carpet to stand close beside him, looking up at him challengingly; there was enough light for her to see the gleam in his dark eyes as one side of his mouth slowly curved into a small smile. "No? Kiss me, then, and stop teasing, or it'll be dawn..."

His soft purring laugh sent shivers down her spine. "My little Gryffindor is growing bold," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close before lowering his mouth to hers. Hermione made a quiet sound of approval, reaching up to wind her fingers into his hair as he kissed her, closing her eyes as his hands slid under her pyjama top and started to lift it up.

She was trembling by the time they were both naked, half-clinging to him as they kissed more passionately; he had backed them both across the room to the bed by that point, leaving their clothes scattered on the floor, and now he sat down and pulled her into his lap before kissing her again. Drawing back for a moment, she cupped his face in her hands, taking a moment to simply look at him as she caught her breath; her fingers traced his sharp features, the high cheekbones and strong jaw, feeling the roughness of the day's stubble and the softness of his lips before brushing his lank hair back from his eyes and daring to trace a finger down the arched bridge of his hooked nose. She knew Severus didn't much care for the way he looked, but he was beautiful to her, even if nobody else would agree.

Hermione kissed him again, gasping softly into his mouth as one of his hands trailed over her thigh to dip between her legs. Gripping his shoulders for support, she shuddered against him as he stroked her, before shifting to try and press down onto his fingers as he pushed two inside her. "I've missed this," she told him breathlessly, running her hands over his chest and arching her back slightly. She half-expected him to laugh and point out that they had only been apart for a single night, but he didn't reply at all, focused entirely on what he was doing as he deftly twisted his fingers inside her and bent his head to kiss her breasts.

He pushed her to the very edge of orgasm and kept her there, frustratingly close to climax but not quite able to reach it. Squirming against his hand as sweat broke out down her back, she tried not to whimper; he really was too bloody good at teasing. Pressing harder onto his fingers, shuddering, she reached down to touch him in return and tried to tease back, squeezing gently until he groaned. "Severus, please..."

Drawing his hand away, he gripped her hips and shifted beneath her, preparing to lift her onto him, before pausing and licking his lips as something evidently occurred to him. Staring at her through burning eyes, he smiled slowly, leaning forward to lick the rim of her ear and nip softly at her earlobe before whispering, "On your knees, Hermione..."

Easing off his lap onto the bed, shivering in happy anticipation, she did as he asked and settled herself cautiously on all fours, twisting to watch over her shoulder as he knelt behind her. Severus steadied himself with one hand resting lightly on her back, gripping himself in his other hand and leaning forward over her, slowly guiding himself inside her until he could lean forward further to take his weight on his arms, flexing his hips as he slid fully into her. Biting back a moan at the sensation, she pushed back against him, breathing raggedly as she adjusted to the new angle.

His movements were slow and gentle at first, letting her get used to the feel of this new position, until she was rocking back against him with every slow thrust and trying not to whimper; kissing her shoulder and biting lightly, he straightened up, gripping her hips and starting to move properly. Keening softly, she pushed back to meet him, shuddering with the more forceful rhythm as her body began to tighten. _So close, so close... _"Oh, fuck," she gasped breathlessly, biting her lip before crying out as she climaxed at last, sinking forward onto her elbows as her arms gave out.

Severus stopped moving, one hand sliding down her back as she trembled beneath him. Leaning forward slightly, he tangled a hand in her hair, gently but firmly tugging her head up; increasing the pressure, he drew her up onto all fours again, before sliding his other arm around her waist and leaning back to pull her up onto her knees as he sat back on his heels. Keeping his hand in her hair, he drew her head back further, kissing the taut skin on her neck and nipping at her throat as he started to move again; his other hand moved higher to cup her breast, his fingers finding her nipple as he thrust into her once more. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the sensations, hearing his ragged breathing growing heavier before hitching as he reached the end; he bit her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, crying out thickly as he came.

Snuggling into his arms afterwards, Hermione sighed contentedly and relaxed; amazing though having sex with him was, it was this intimacy afterwards that she valued most. It was the only time Severus ever seemed to genuinely relax. It wouldn't last; by morning he would once again be tense and stressed and brooding; but for these few hours he was peaceful and happy. "That's better," she mumbled, sighing again.

He chuckled drowsily. "Always glad to be of assistance."

"It's been a bit of a weird day," she observed lazily, closing her eyes. "I thought there would be something going on when I saw how many people were here, but nobody seems to be doing anything. Except staring at you," she added with a hint of a question in her voice.

"I know. Don't worry about it yet."

"So you do know why."

"I suspect I do, yes, but I don't know for certain."

"And you're not going to tell me. Haven't we been here before, Severus?" she asked reproachfully.

"If I'm right, you'll find out soon enough. And if I'm wrong, no need to worry." He yawned. "I don't think either of us slept much yesterday, and you'll have to get back to your own room in a couple of hours. Get some rest, Hermione. Don't trouble trouble until trouble troubles you."

* * *

><p>Severus opened his eyes sleepily and with some reluctance the following day; nothing on this earth was ever going to make him like mornings. They had become a lot more pleasant now that he was usually waking up with a beautiful naked woman in bed with him, admittedly, but that pleasure was tainted today by the fact that she was going to have to sneak back to her own room very shortly. He allowed himself a couple of minutes to enjoy being snuggled up with her again first, though, warm smooth skin and soft curves and insane curly hair everywhere; he was going to need the memory of this to get him through today. Yes, he knew exactly why the Order had all gathered and why they kept staring at him, and as soon as he had woken up he had known his time was up. It wasn't going to be pleasant, and he was going to need Hermione before it was over, he suspected.<p>

Reluctantly he pushed himself up on one elbow, brushing her hair back out of the way and leaning forward to kiss the faint bruise he had accidentally left on her shoulder last night. "Hermione," he murmured, his voice a sleep-roughened growl. "Time to get up."

Her sleepy sound of protest made him smile, before she yawned and slowly rolled over to blink drowsily at him. "It's still dark, Severus," she complained.

"It won't be for much longer, and you need to get back to your room before anyone else wakes up," he reminded her, pleased with the reluctance in her eyes. If he had his way, neither of them would ever leave their bedroom, but sadly the real world was once again interfering.

She mumbled something that sounded like she had learned it from him, before nodding and sitting up, stretching. Severus took a moment to appreciate the improved view of her breasts, resigned to a cold shower this morning, before sitting up in turn and scratching his wrist, trying to hold back a yawn. _Here we go._

* * *

><p>He lingered as long as he could before venturing downstairs, grimly certain of what he was going to find. Phineas had appeared very briefly while he was getting dressed; the portrait hadn't said anything, but his expression had confirmed Severus' suspicions. Taking a moment in the hallway to ensure all his defences were firmly in place, he took a deep breath and entered the subdued atmosphere in the kitchen, his gaze flickering quickly around the room, assessing.<p>

Most of the Order were present, but not all. Aside from Ronald and William, the junior Weasleys were absent; Poppy wasn't there either, but that made sense. She'd be upstairs, in the sick room. Hermione sat with her friends at the far side of the room, watching him worriedly with her lower lip caught between her teeth; he could tell from her expression that she didn't know what was going on, and nor did the boys.

Everyone else did, though. They were all looking at him, but none of them could meet his eyes. Both Molly and Minerva looked down as soon as he glanced at them; the others all looked away quickly. Only Lupin tried to stare him down; he quelled the werewolf with a glare and moved forward a pace, folding his arms across his chest and looking around impassively, waiting. He wasn't going to make the first move. If they were really going to demand this of him, they'd have to work for it. Finally he arched an eyebrow, and Minerva broke.

"Good morning, Severus."

"I doubt it," he replied quietly. "Well?"

She at least had the decency to look away. "Albus is... much worse. He had a bad night, and Poppy says... it won't be long, now. I... we have all said our farewells. Harry saw him yesterday. Now..."

Severus glanced briefly at Potter, recognising from the boy's expression that the old man hadn't been well enough for any sort of conversation. No matter, the old bastard's portrait would retain enough of a personality to be used for therapy later if need be. The Trio all still looked bewildered.

Slowly he turned back to Minerva. "And what does this have to do with me?" he inquired softly.

"You know what it has to do with you, Severus," Lupin replied quietly. He did wish the werewolf wouldn't use his first name. He never had when they were at school, after all.

He refused to look at Hermione again; he'd heard her draw in a sharp breath and knew she'd just guessed what was coming. Drawing on his Occlumency again, he felt his expression locking into rigid lines. "Say it," he said coldly. "You're all too craven to actually do it; the least you can do is say it. Ask me properly."

The silence hummed with tension and misery.

Finally Minerva cleared her throat and sighed, still unable to look at him. "Please, Severus. Albus is in a lot of pain. We... we need you to... grant him a peaceful end."

"_Say. It._" No euphemisms; no comforting lies. He wanted them to know what they were asking. It would always have come down to this – the Unbreakable Vow saw to that; his wrists were no longer itching but burning – but there was no reason for them to know that. He wanted them to think about just what they were demanding of him.

She swallowed hard. This must be hurting her; Dumbledore had been her friend for a long time. Severus refused to feel pity, not now. He couldn't afford to. "We need you to kill him," she said finally, with a dignity in her voice that he could respect.

He gave Hermione a sharp look straight from Professor Snape's best repertoire, freezing her in place; she couldn't defend him now. The boys were staring in horror; he looked away from them and sneered at the room in general. "As you wish," he said contemptuously, turning away. It was bollocks; anyone who had passed fourth-year Potions could brew a strong enough sedative that an overdose would grant peaceful death. Even if none of them could make themselves use the Killing Curse, there were other ways. Severus himself had no intention of using Avada Kedavra; he wanted to have a final little chat with the old bastard first.

"Wait – you're going to do it now?" Lupin blurted.

He glanced back, curling his lip. "Is he going to become less mortally afflicted if I let you all bleat at me for another ten minutes first? This has been dragged out long enough."

"But..." The werewolf hesitated. "Can you really do this, Severus? Go upstairs and – and kill him, just like that?"

He felt very, very tired as he stared back at the last Marauder. "Time to find out."

* * *

><p><em>Next chapter's going to be pretty dramatic, obviously. Angst ahoy!<br>_

_This isn't fan art, it wasn't drawn for me, but it is VERY close to the way I picture Severus in my head so I thought I'd share it with you: _bluedragonpearls dot deviantart dot com /art/Severus-292564225


	46. Chapter 46

_A belated happy birthday to **FionaTyne! **Have a bucketload of angst. _

_If you got more than one alert, it's because I had to delete and resubmit again, FFN are having some issues recently. If this happens again, please don't all start messaging me about it. I know you mean well, but I really don't need a dozen or more almost identical messages telling me if it's not working. It doesn't help.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"What's inside a man<br>That goes so wrong  
>Choke on guilt that's far too good for you<br>Say one word I'll laugh and bury you  
>And leave you in the place<br>Where you left me..."**  
>– Garbage, 'As Heaven Is Wide'.<p>

* * *

><p>Very slowly, Severus climbed the stairs to the isolated landing where Dumbledore's room was, drawing the cool silence of his Occlumency defences around him once more and letting everything fade into the distance until it didn't touch him any more. It wasn't as if he hadn't known this was coming.<p>

Poppy was waiting for him outside; her eyes were bloodshot. "I'm so sorry that it has come to this, Severus."

"It's not your fault." He pulled back his sleeve and showed her the red lines that had reappeared, wrapped around his wrists. "I don't see why the rest of them should know, but this would have had to happen anyway. I knew that when I swore the Vow last summer." Having no choice wasn't exactly new for him, after all.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"No." He knew she wouldn't be able to handle it. Besides, he wanted a little privacy for a final talk with the old man first. "Don't let Hermione come up here. I don't want her here right now. Stay with her, please. I would tell you to try and stop her fretting about me, but I suspect I would be wasting my breath."

"You didn't tell her this was coming? Oh, Severus..."

"She knew it was a probability. She would only have worried if I had confirmed that it was a certainty. Besides, I wasn't totally sure myself until I woke up this morning. Go downstairs with the others, please. You, too, Phineas," he added without raising his voice. "I won't have you watching me now, not this time."

Alone at last, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door, stepping through and closing it behind him before turning around.

* * *

><p><em>He looks so... small. <em>Severus regarded his master with a curious sense of detachment; his emotions concerning Dumbledore had always been rather complicated, but he had always feared him to some extent, in many ways more than he had feared Voldemort. In particular he recalled the night he had gone to kneel at the old man's feet and beg for Lily's life; Dumbledore had been awe-inspiring then, terrifying and powerful, and it had been easy to see why even the Dark Lord had feared him. And now... now he was just another sick old man.

His dark eyes scanned the figure lying on the bed dispassionately. Dumbledore's face was gaunt, almost skeletal, and his whole body seemed shrunken, painfully emphasising the missing hand and forearm. The darkness of the curse had reached his face and neck now, increasing the sallow, almost yellowish tinge to the skin. Severus felt a brief flicker of morbid, gallows humour; _he looks worse than I ever did. _Pushing it away, he glanced around the room and saw Fawkes perched on the open windowsill; the phoenix trilled very softly, a single muted note, and dipped his head briefly in acknowledgement.

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice was a weak and thready whisper, but although they were sunken and dull the blue eyes were still keen and aware, if not as piercing as they had once been. He could see the old wizard's pain and the whites of his eyes were grey; Vow or no Vow, it obviously wouldn't be long. The old man coughed. "Thank you."

_I'm not doing it for you. _He moved forward to the bed with some reluctance and stared down at his master expressionlessly. "Dumbledore." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small bottle and lifted it to the light, studying the contents critically.

Dumbledore blinked slowly. "...Poison, Severus? Why...?"

"Because I want time to... say my farewells," he replied with a tight smile, "and because using the Killing Curse isn't simple, even for a Death Eater. This is just as painless, if not quite as quick." _A better death than you deserve. _"Can you drink it yourself?" he asked dispassionately. "No? All right." He helped the old man raise his head, holding the bottle to his lips, refusing to let any of his thoughts touch him as he watched Dumbledore drink.

When the bottle was empty, he pocketed it and sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his master. He'd spent years dreaming of the day he'd finally confront the old man and let all the old anger and hurt spill out, but now that he was here, most of his rage seemed to have gone. Having had to act as the leader over the past couple of months had helped him understand what it could cost someone, and he could see what damage so many years of it might have done, but understanding the other person's point of view had never stopped him feeling angry about the way he was treated before; that wasn't it. No, there just didn't seem any point in being angry now, not when faced with this rather pathetic figure of a sick and dying old man. It wouldn't change anything.

"How long?" Dumbledore asked weakly, lying back.

"Five, ten minutes." He exhaled slowly and shook his head. "It shouldn't have come to this, Dumbledore. None of this should have happened. You've been such a fool. It would have taken so little on your part; just the smallest gesture would have won me to you right from the start, and this could all have been prevented. I didn't need much. All you had to do was acknowledge that it wasn't always my fault; all you had to do was give me a chance, just once. That would have been enough. What did I do, Dumbledore, except be Sorted into Slytherin and be picked as a target by your favourites? Even when you scolded me and punished me, I could see in your eyes that you knew I wasn't to blame. Black tried to _kill _me; you _know_ he did, no matter what you said. He tried to kill me, and you did _nothing, _except threaten me until I promised not to say anything – as if anyone would have listened to me anyway. Why did my life never mean anything to you?"

"Severus..."

"I'm not expecting an answer. Shut up and let me talk. You owe me that much, at least. You see, I don't think you _have _an answer, any more than I think Potter or Black could ever explain why they hated me, or the teachers could explain why they always looked the other way. I didn't do anything wrong. I was only eleven, and I certainly wasn't the Dark Arts expert and sneaky little bully everyone says I was, not then. I was just a young boy who had been badly treated at home and couldn't make friends easily, that's all. Everything else came later. I didn't fit in, and that's apparently all the excuse people needed."

He stared down at Dumbledore, who had closed his eyes but was apparently still listening – he was still breathing, anyway. "You never understood why I joined the Death Eaters, did you? The Dark Lord only needed to speak to me twice to see how to win my loyalty, but you never saw it. He offered me a place to belong and told me I would be valued, not judged. That was all it took. If you'd done the same, I would have been yours, not his, because no matter what anyone thinks of me, I never wanted to serve evil, and power and ambition were always second. Nobody else even pretended that I mattered to them, so I went to him. It was that simple, and yet you never saw it."

"Severus..."

"I said, don't talk. This isn't a conversation and I'm not interested in your justifications. I just want you to listen, so you'll understand before you finally snuff it and stop ruining people's lives. It's a shame we don't have more time, because there's a lot I could say, but it doesn't matter. I really just wanted to tell you that you've always been wrong about me. If I really was the man you've always believed, Dumbledore, I could have destroyed you a very long time ago. You see, I'm not stupid, and I've never been able to trust you, so I made sure I had a few aces up my sleeve that I could use to protect myself if you ever turned on me."

He leaned closer as Dumbledore opened his eyes, feeling a very unpleasant smile forming. "I know about Aberforth, and I know about Ariana, and I know about Gellert. I know _everything, _Dumbledore. You should be very, very grateful that I'm not the scum you think I am, because I've never told anyone, although God knows you've given me enough reasons to do it over the years. I thought about it every time you laughed at me, every time you patronised me, every time you rode roughshod over my feelings and made it clear that I would always mean less than nothing to you no matter what I did."

For just a moment, he saw old pain and genuine fear in the blue eyes that had once terrified him so much, and it brought a stab of dark and vindictive pleasure. Severus had waited a long time to say this; he was glad he'd got the chance before the old man died. "I never even told Potter, after you broke your word to me and told him about Lily. Perhaps I should have done, but surprisingly, the boy isn't stupid; he worked out all by himself that the only reason you had for telling him was to spite me. I didn't turn him against you, Dumbledore; you did. Even the best chess pieces will only let you push them around with no explanation for so long. If Lily had still been an issue, perhaps I would have done, but I don't think you ever understood that, either. She hasn't been my motivation for a long time."

"Why..."

"I'm not going to tell you everything, amusing though it would be to see your face if I did. It's really none of your business." And he wanted Hermione kept out of this, anyway, because he knew he shouldn't be doing it. Justified it might be, but it was still wrong, really.

Severus stood up. "I know you never intended me to survive, Dumbledore. Once I was no longer of use, you'd have made sure I was lost, one way or another. Sorry to disappoint you, but I intend to get my life back. Whatever you've been hiding, whatever final damning revelation Minerva's holding onto for me to see, I'm going to make sure I get through it. I'm not going to let you win. I'm not who you think I am, or what you think I am, and I'm going to prove you wrong. Because I don't think you're a particularly good man, Dumbledore, regardless of how you've led the Order for all this time – and I don't deny you've led them well and achieved quite a lot. I've always been suspicious of your real motives, though.

"Because one thing has always puzzled me. Why, when you _knew _I'd overheard part of the prophecy, did you not try to prevent me telling my master? You made absolutely no attempt to stop me reaching the Dark Lord with what I knew. I can't accept that you didn't know Pettigrew wasn't reliable, either; if you truly wanted to keep the Potters safe, you'd have been their Secret-Keeper yourself. And don't get me started on everything you've put Potter Junior through, or all the times you've ignored what I told you – if you'd listened to me, this second war could have ended virtually as soon as it began. I think you _wanted_ all this to happen the way it did. And you should be very grateful that I can't possibly hope to prove it. Otherwise I'd have just fed you unicorn blood, and I'd make sure you stayed alive to answer for it."

Dumbledore had closed his eyes again, but the old man's weakened body was tense and his breathing was unsteady. Severus looked down at him coldly.

"I don't know what's on the other side, Dumbledore, but you've ruined far more lives than I. I hope there's justice beyond the veil, because you need to pay for what you've done, but it's not my problem any more. We're done, you and I." He turned away.

"Wait." The old man's voice sounded weaker than ever; there could only be a few minutes left. Severus stopped, but didn't turn around.

"What?"

"...Stay, until the end. Please."

Frankly astounded by the request, he turned to look back at his master. He thought about the times he had been close to death, in particular the most recent one, when he had been tortured to the brink of death and had been saved by Hermione's magic and the battered copper bracelet he still wore around his wrist, remembering the terrible loneliness and fear. He could see that feeling in the old man's eyes now. Severus hesitated for a moment longer, thinking, then took a breath.

"No."

Turning, he walked away without another word, closing the door behind him. Leaning against the wall, he slid down to sit on the worn carpet in the hallway, staring at the opposite wall silently for a few minutes that felt like eternity, until his wrists burned painfully and he sat watching the red lines slowly fade away.

* * *

><p>The atmosphere in the kitchen was truly terrible. Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth, trying not to fidget; the silence was getting to her. Nobody was saying anything, or looking at each other, and all of them were obviously trying not to look at the door or glance upwards. Under the table, she was gripping Harry's hand, probably hard enough to hurt; he held on just as tightly, and his face was pale. She strained to hear the slightest sound from upstairs; it felt like a very long time had passed.<p>

After what seemed like an eternity, they heard Fawkes cry out, a single note of pure sorrow that faded into the distance, and Harry's nails dug into her hand as an odd kind of mutual shiver ran around the room, but still nobody spoke. They eventually heard footsteps on the stairs, and Hermione stared anxiously at the door as Severus finally came in.

His face was completely devoid of expression; she hadn't seen him Occluding so strongly in a very long time. It made his black eyes look cold and lifeless again, and his gaze remained distant as he briefly and dispassionately scanned the room.

"Severus," Minerva greeted him quietly, sounding a little hoarse. "Is it..."

"Yes. He's dead." His voice was as empty as his eyes, his words clipped and emotionless. He glanced at Hermione and the boys, briefly and without any apparent interest. "I suppose you three will want to remain here for a while... I will expect you back in a few hours. We still have work to do." He turned away without saying anything else.

"Severus, wait," Lupin said, standing up. "What... you have to tell us more than that. Please. Did he..."

Severus sneered at him, his voice turning a few shades colder. "If you're hoping he left you some final meaningful words of wisdom, you're going to be disappointed, and I'm not giving you an action replay. He died. It was quick. It was as undignified as every unnatural death. There is nothing else to say."

He moved to brush past, and Lupin caught his sleeve. Severus spun around, turning his body and using the momentum to put his full weight behind a stunning blow to the face that sent the other man crashing to the floor. The sudden, shocking violence caused everyone to freeze, uncomprehending for a long moment, as Severus stared down at Lupin with the same unemotional, cold expression on his face.

"If you ever touch me again, I will kill you," he said flatly. There was murder in his eyes; Hermione had always thought that was just a figure of speech, until she saw Severus' face at this moment. She could see the Death Eater behind his eyes now, and it was frighteningly obvious that he meant it.

"Severus! That's enough!" Professor McGonagall snapped, standing up.

"Is it?" he asked distantly, giving Lupin an indifferent glance before shrugging and turning away. He didn't look angry, as such; in some ways, Hermione thought that made it worse. She had never seen him like this before. "If you say so."

Tonks had gone forward to help Lupin sit up; his nose was bleeding heavily and obviously badly broken, and his upper lip had split over his teeth. It had been a fierce enough blow that Hermione wasn't surprised to see that Severus' knuckles were cut; he had probably hurt his hand quite badly, too. Tonks glared at Severus angrily. "You heartless bastard, Snape. Remus didn't do anything."

"No," Severus agreed. "He never did," he added, turning his flat stare back to Lupin, who dropped his eyes, unable to meet that dark-eyed gaze.

"What are you talking about?"

"It really doesn't matter." He glanced briefly around the kitchen again and curled his lip. "Was there anything else you all feel unable to handle by yourselves?"

"Where did Fawkes go?" Ron asked in a subdued voice, obviously trying to fulfil his usual peacekeeping role by changing the subject and diverting them before things got any more out of hand.

Severus shrugged. "Wherever a masterless phoenix goes." He waited a moment to see if anyone else was going to speak, then turned and left the room without another word, leaving a very uncomfortable and slightly nervous silence behind him; apparently nobody else had seen him like that before either.

Poppy went upstairs to see to Dumbledore's body, and one by one the Order began to file upstairs in small groups to pay their last respects before leaving. Hermione stayed in the kitchen, replaying what had just happened and trying to work out what she should do now; Severus certainly hadn't seemed as though he wanted company, but equally he had obviously been repressing everything very strongly and was obviously more hurt than he was letting on.

It was just herself, Ron and Harry in the kitchen when Professor McGonagall came back, dry-eyed but sorrowful. "Will you three be returning tonight?" she asked.

"I will be, soon," Hermione replied softly. "I think Harry and Ron should stay for now." The boys looked at her and she tried to smile. "You should be with your family, Ron. And Harry, Ginny will want you with her."

"What about you?" Harry asked awkwardly.

It was terrible, Hermione reflected, but she wasn't really mourning. It was certainly sad that Dumbledore had died before his time, but no more so than anyone else who had died in the war. She hadn't really known him well enough to feel very much, and Severus had suffered so much because of him. _Is it bad to be angry with the dead? _she wondered. _I don't know how I'm meant to feel._

"I wasn't close to Professor Dumbledore the way you were. I'd rather go home, to be honest." She had spoken without thinking, but she realised as she said it that Spinners End _was _home now, damp and depressing though it was. "Besides," she added more quietly, "Severus shouldn't be on his own, not after that. I doubt he'll want company, but I want to keep an eye on him." It wasn't exactly self harm as most people would understand it, but he did have a tendency to hurt himself when he was upset, even if it wasn't deliberate.

"What if he..."

"Don't, Ron. He won't hurt me. It's not as if he needed much of a reason to want to punch Lupin, is it? I doubt he'll talk to me, but even if he loses his temper, he won't hurt me. I'll be fine."

"In that case, Hermione, you should take this," Professor McGonagall said quietly, holding out a glass vial filled with swirling silver. "The memories that Albus prepared to tell Severus what else the four of you have to do. I don't know what's in here, but it's important."

She nodded and took the bottle, putting it in her pocket. "All right."

"And I want you to use the Floo to call here in a couple of hours, please, to spare us worrying. I don't believe Severus would deliberately harm you, but I haven't seen him like that before. The others who don't know the full story will be concerned, too."

Suppressing a sigh, she nodded again and repeated, "All right."

* * *

><p>When she let herself into the house a short while later, she found Severus in the living room, sitting on one end of the sofa; he was leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and apparently absorbed in studying a frayed patch on the carpet. On the surface, it didn't look like anything was wrong, but his gaze was still unnaturally distant and remote and he didn't look up when she came in.<p>

Biting her lip, Hermione crossed the room and sat beside him, not sure of what to do. She hadn't witnessed any of the times when he had been seriously unbalanced before; he had always dealt with such episodes by himself. _This must be what shell shock looks like, _she decided, studying that odd expression in his eyes; it looked like the descriptions she'd read of the thousand-yard stare. Evidently everything was finally catching up with him. _He's picked a hell of a time to have a breakdown, _she told herself a little hysterically. "Severus?" she asked softly.

He didn't even blink. She bit her lip again, watching him more closely. If it had been anyone else, she would have assumed that they didn't know she was there, but this was Severus. He always knew when he was being watched and he never relaxed, always aware of his surroundings. He knew someone was there, even if he wasn't showing it, and as he hadn't drawn his wand or done anything violent it seemed likely he knew it was her. That was reassuring, but she would still prefer it if he actually spoke to her and let her know he was still there.

"Severus?" she repeated hesitantly, after a tense minute or so of listening to her own heartbeat pulsing in her ears. This time she got a reaction, even if only a small one; he sighed, barely audibly, and lowered his head a little further, his hair falling forward in a curtain around his face. She was about to speak again when some instinct warned her to hold her tongue; keeping silent, she bit her lip again instead, reaching out slowly to rest her hand on his back between his shoulder blades.

It seemed like a very long time had passed, but in reality it was probably only a minute or two before he shuddered under her hand, his shoulders shaking for a moment. She heard him draw in a deep, unsteady breath and heard it catch in his throat before he started shivering almost unnoticeably, and if she hadn't been listening so ferociously hard to pick up any sound at all she would have missed the barely audible little choked noise he made in the back of his throat as he started crying.

He was obviously fighting very hard to stop; she could hear him trying to hold his breath, trying to swallow the sobs, and she could feel the tension in his thin frame as he struggled silently with his pain. Her own eyes started to sting as she wordlessly moved closer, pressing against his side and ignoring the way he stiffened and tried to move away from her, turning his head away as though he could pretend it wasn't happening. Sliding her arms around him, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and listened in silence as he fought to hold back his tears, starting to shake.

_I never want to know how he learned to repress everything this strongly, _she decided, feeling a bit remote and distant herself now in the face of his pain. By now, Hermione had seen Severus in some truly terrible situations, but even in the middle of agony so acute that he couldn't even scream, he hadn't cried. Involuntary tears might have come to his eyes, but that wasn't the same thing. She had only seen him close to tears twice; once when he had removed his Dark Mark and stopped being a Death Eater, and once when she had told him she loved him. She had never seen him like this, and she felt absolutely useless, unable to do anything except hold him and try in vain to think of something she could say to help, as he gave up the hopeless struggle and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands as his shaking grew worse.

* * *

><p>It could have been ten minutes or two hours by the time he got himself back under control once more; Hermione had no idea. The horrible choked sobs had eased, his shaking had slowed and stopped and his breathing seemed easier. He hadn't looked at her once, but he had been leaning against her for some of it, and now they had both moved; he was lying rather awkwardly on his end of the sofa now, curled up in a cramped position that couldn't be remotely comfortable, with his head resting in her lap as she stroked his hair. He had to be uncomfortable, but she didn't have the heart to try and get him to move. She looked down into his face where his head rested on her thigh, gently smoothing his hair back; he was flushed and hot, his cheeks were slightly blotchy, his nose was reddened and the skin under his eyes was swollen. His eyes had been closed the entire time; she understood that it was the only way he could let himself seek comfort from her, that it let him pretend it somehow didn't count.<p>

_You look exhausted, my love. _Her heart ached for him; she suspected he hadn't expected it to hit him so hard. Apparently he had still felt something for his master after all, or it was simply that everything was catching up with him at last. Or both, probably. She continued stroking his hair gently, ignoring the fact that it needed washing, listening to his breath hitch for a moment before it eased again.

"I need to call Headquarters," she told him softly, "and let them know you haven't killed me." He sighed and snuggled closer, the back of his head pressing against her hip; that wasn't exactly an answer, but she took the hint and Summoned the Floo powder to her without trying to move, balancing it on the arm of the sofa and drawing her wand to light the fire with the hand not stroking his hair.

"Twelve Grimmauld Place," she called quietly.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry's voice replied. "Everything okay?"

"Yes. Who's there?"

"Me, Ginny, Ron, Remus, Tonks. Professor McGonagall's drifting in and out. I think everyone else is in the drawing room or something. Nobody really seems to know what to do with themselves right now."

"Fair enough. Are you two staying there tonight?"

"Yes," Ginny answered firmly, and Hermione smiled as laughter came through the Floo.

"Apparently so," Harry said sheepishly.

"Smart boy. All right, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Is Snape there, Hermione?" Tonks asked.

"He's in the house, yes," Hermione confirmed, smiling a little as she glanced down at Severus again. He still hadn't opened his eyes, although he had shifted to reach across her lap and rest his hand on her other thigh, cuddling closer.

"But not right there?"

"Why?"

"Are you okay? He hasn't done anything, has he?"

"Like what? Give me detention?" she asked tartly. "Honestly, what do people think he's going to do to us? Has nobody else noticed that he's never raised a hand to any of us in six years, or done anything except make threats, despite everything we've done to him?" She saw Severus' lips twitch slightly, betraying that he was listening, and grinned as she returned to stroking his hair.

"Hermione," Lupin said sternly in a slightly thick and nasal voice, "don't be facetious, please. Has Severus done anything to you?"

"Of course he hasn't."

"Well, what was he like when you got there?"

Hermione gave the green flames a thoughtful look. "With respect, sir, why do you care? I've already said he didn't do anything to me. I don't think you really care about his mood beyond that," she said carefully. She had always liked Lupin, but rather less since starting to see Severus' point of view.

"It's a fair point," Ron agreed from beyond the fire. "We did say Snape wasn't treating us badly." By the sound of things, he suspected that Severus was in earshot.

"Hermione..."

Abruptly trying not to laugh, she put on her most sarcastic voice. "What do you want me to say, that Professor Snape broke down and cried on my shoulder?" she asked acidly, looking down at the man in her lap in time to see him smile a little shakily. "I don't think he was acting particularly strangely. I'm surprised he hasn't hit you before this, to be honest, sir; he's certainly hated you long enough."

"Hermione!" Tonks protested. "How can you say that?"

"I didn't say he was right." _Being a Slytherin is actually quite good fun. _

"Yes, well, it's time this stupid fight stopped, isn't it?" the Metamorphagus said. Hermione wasn't really surprised to realise that Lupin clearly hadn't told her anything.

"I don't think that's going to happen," Lupin said sadly.

"Probably not, no," Hermione agreed quietly, stroking Severus' hair again. "I'm not sure I'd find it easy to forgive in those circumstances."

"Hermione, you were in the Shack. He was wrong."

"Yes," she agreed calmly. "But he didn't know that at the time. He thought Sirius was a dangerous murderer, and he knew you hadn't taken your Wolfsbane, and he thought you were in league with him. What was he supposed to do? He made a mistake, that's all. And you didn't see him trying to protect us after you'd changed. I wasn't talking about that night, anyway; Professor Snape hated you long before that."

"What has he told you?" Lupin asked suspiciously.

"Nothing. It wasn't him who told me."

"It was me, Remus," Harry said quietly, sounding tired and a little sad; he probably hadn't wanted to talk about this. Hermione made a mental note to apologise to her friend tomorrow. "I told Ron and Hermione what I saw in the Pensieve."

"Oh, Harry."

"You knew it bothered me. I tried to talk to you and Sirius about it. It bothered me more to see that you didn't really care."

"Harry..."

"What? You laughed it off. You said you weren't proud of it, but neither of you seemed ashamed of it either. I didn't want to know that my dad and my godfather were like that. It was... wrong."

"It was a stupid joke, Harry, and it got a little out of hand. That's all. It's nothing to be so upset about, and it's not worth holding a grudge over, either."

Hermione's temper snapped. She was surprised that her voice still sounded so calm as she replied quietly, "That's not true, sir. And you know it. It wasn't a joke. It was torture."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was. They call it waterboarding, in the Muggle world. Forcing water down someone's throat until they choke. It's a little different, but it's the same concept. And stripping someone against their will is sexual assault." She felt Severus shake his head against her thigh at that, and laid her fingertips over his mouth. It might not be the worst form of assault he'd been through, but that didn't make it better.

"Remus, what are you all talking about?" Tonks asked slowly. Hermione felt a little bad about that; she liked the Auror, and it wasn't fair for her to hear about this, but she'd had enough of nobody admitting that it had been wrong.

"I'll tell you later. I'll have to, now." She heard Lupin sigh. "Hermione, you're exaggerating. It wasn't as bad as you think. I admit Sirius and James went too far, but I didn't do anything, and they were just messing around."

"You should have stopped them."

"They wouldn't have listened."

"Then you should have gone and told a teacher what was happening, and got someone else to stop it." Hermione stared at the green flames, feeling a little strange. "I never let Harry and Ron do anything too stupid. Even if it meant they didn't speak to me for a while afterwards. I thought being a Gryffindor meant standing up for what was right."

"Do you agree with this, Harry?" Lupin asked stiffly.

Harry sighed. "I don't know. I don't think you all really meant it that way, but Hermione's right, it was torture. I don't see much difference between what you did to Snape and what we saw Death Eaters doing to some Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup. He couldn't defend himself either, and he hadn't done anything to deserve it. Sirius and my dad were bored, so they attacked him. I can't help feeling bad about that. I'm sure there were times when he started it, but I know what I saw. And there were four of you, and only one of him. I doubt he won very often. I'm sorry, Remus, but it does still bother me, and I can see why Professor Snape still hates you. It can't have been easy growing up with things like that happening. I know what it feels like to be bullied."

"You don't know what really happened, Harry. What you saw was bad, yes, and I'm not proud of it, but it was one incident among many."

Hermione tried not to grind her teeth. "Sir, please don't try to say that Professor Snape started it. James and Sirius were a team right from the start, and you and Peter too. I really can't see that he would have single-handedly started a fight with a strong group like the Marauders, not when he would obviously lose."

"Hermione," Severus whispered, too quietly to be heard on the other side of the fire. She looked down at him, and he gazed up at her through bloodshot, tired eyes. "Let it go. It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," she whispered back, and he shook his head against her leg, cuddling closer and closing his eyes again.

"No, it doesn't. Not any more. It's not important now. You can't know what it means to me to hear you defending me, but it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of me any more."

"But it's not fair, love..." He smiled slightly and didn't answer, shifting pointedly under her hand until she started stroking his hair again.

There seemed to be an argument taking place on the other side of the Floo now. Hermione raised her voice. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just getting a bit tired of everyone constantly checking to make sure Professor Snape hasn't injured any of us. He's worked really hard to help us do this, and what he had to do today must have been horrible."

Ron answered her, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. "Er, to be honest, 'Mione, it's probably better if you just go. Professor McGonagall came in just before you said what Harry had seen. She had no idea that anything that bad had happened, I don't reckon. It's a bit scary to watch. We'll see you tomorrow, sometime after breakfast."

"Oops. Okay then."

"By the way... Professor Snape's been listening this entire time, hasn't he?"

"Of course."

"Thought so. All right, see you tomorrow then. Bye."

"Bye."

* * *

><p>"Oops," Hermione repeated to herself, caught between amused and embarrassed, as the flames died down. "I didn't mean to do that."<p>

"You Gryffindors, always causing trouble," Severus murmured from her lap, smiling a little.

"I think it's just as well that was a Floo call and not face to face. God knows what I might have done otherwise."

"We can always visit again later. I would give virtually anything to watch you hex Lupin. You're bloody sexy when you're that angry, you know."

"Don't tease. I actually feel bad. Nobody deserves to have Professor McGonagall outraged with them."

"He does. And I wasn't teasing." Severus stretched, as much as he could in his cramped position, and relaxed again. "I did just hear Harry Potter defending me, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"Ha. His parents and godfather must be spinning in their graves."

"Behave," she chided gently, combing his hair back from his eyes with her fingers. More seriously, she asked, "How are you feeling?"

He responded with a vague noise that might have meant anything, before sighing and shifting to rub his cheek gently against her thigh. "I'm all right, I think."

"Was it so bad?"

The question drew another wordless and unhelpful murmur before he answered. "Not compared to some of the things I've done. I didn't curse him, if you were wondering. I gave him a painless poison, and I told him a few things I wanted him to hear, and I walked out and left him to die."

"They shouldn't have asked you to do it."

"The Vow, remember," he replied softly. "I always knew it would probably come down to me, in the end."

"Not if someone else had given him poison first, surely. I don't understand why Poppy, at least, didn't..."

He shook his head and tried to snuggle further into her lap, his eyes still closed. "It is no easy thing to take a life, even as a mercy. Poison is easier than a spell, but it is still difficult, especially if you must look at your victim as they die. This is one lesson I hope you will never have to learn, Hermione. Life and death are far more complex than they seem. Few of the Order could kill coldly without battle to heat their blood and dull their senses, and none of them could kill Albus Dumbledore. It's one reason why they needed me."

"I don't see how you've been able to do it for all these years," Hermione said softly, stroking his hair again. "You're not cold or unfeeling, not really. Is it truly just Occlumency?"

"No. I may not be unfeeling, but there is still enough darkness in me to let me kill and survive it."

"It's a good thing there's light in there as well, then, isn't it?" she said more lightly, brushing her fingertips over the soft skin of his temple to the creases at the corner of his eye. "You're going to have to move, my leg's going to sleep. Go and take a shower while I find some lunch, and then go to bed for a few hours. You're exhausted."

"I'm not hungry. I just want to sleep. I feel sick."

"I'm not surprised, but you haven't really eaten properly in nearly two days – or did you think I wouldn't notice?"

He grunted. "I need to go and see Minerva soon... Those memories..."

"She gave them to me. Don't even think of asking to see them, or of trying to take them off me. You're resting today, and we're going to deal with Nagini in the next couple of days. _Then _we'll worry about what comes next. One thing at a time, and you've been through enough today. Shower and food, then bed, Severus."

"Yes, _dear._"

She tugged lightly at his hair in rebuke for the sarcasm, smiling. "I already told you to behave."

Opening bloodshot eyes, he lifted his head a little and gave her a teasing hint at a smile. "Will I have company?"

Hermione gave him a mock-stern look, fighting her own smile. "I'll come upstairs and read if you like, but you are going to _sleep, _Severus Snape."

"Spoilsport."

* * *

><p><em>Wasn't that fun? In case you can't tell, I don't really like Dumbledore or Lupin. I know I've been very subtle about it. Onwards and upwards, then...<em>


	47. Chapter 47

_You may or may not be interested to know that John Sessions does an amazing Alan Rickman impression. I'm just saying._

_I might have to delete and resubmit this chapter, I don't know if FFN have fixed their issues yet. Let's find out.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause."<strong>  
>– Henri Bergson.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus was quiet and subdued the following morning. Hermione wasn't surprised; he had been suspiciously silent before she had fallen asleep and again when she woke, and she doubted he had slept much. He was also a bit snappish, which again wasn't a surprise – he obviously felt angry and embarrassed about letting his guard down so much and clearly had a few problems with the entire concept of letting anyone else see his pain. Harry was the same, although not quite so strongly, so she was used to it; her best friend had always been moody following any occasion when she hadn't seen him at his best.<p>

That didn't mean she was going to let Severus get away with it; after the third time he snapped at her for something trivial – in this case, jogging his elbow when she reached past him for the newspaper – she told him bluntly to go and sulk somewhere else until he was in a better mood. Surprisingly, it actually worked; he glared at her rather sullenly, but slunk off upstairs without another word. She knew from watching him with Poppy and Dilys that actually the feared Severus Snape tended to obey bossy women quite often, which was definitely worth bearing in mind, although she knew it wouldn't always work. Best to save that particular weapon for when she really needed it.

Hermione herself felt fine. She felt a little guilty about not being upset, actually, but when all was said and done, she simply hadn't known Dumbledore very well, and his machinations had caused her fiancé and her best friend a lot of heartache and pain over the years, as well as putting her personally in danger once or twice. She was sad for other people – obviously the Order had lost a dear friend, flaws or not, as well as the toll it had taken on Severus, and the way it must have devastated Harry – but not for herself. So she passed a relatively peaceful morning reading quite contentedly and listening to the radio, before it occurred to her that Severus seemed to be spending quite a long time sulking, all things considered, and she headed upstairs to find out where he was.

She had half-expected to find him asleep; God knows he needed it. But in fact he was awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed and hunched forward over what she thought at first glance was a notepad. He didn't look up, apparently utterly absorbed in whatever he was doing, and she took a closer look before recognising a sketchbook. Hermione hadn't seen him drawing before, and studied his face curiously; his eyes were oddly distant, almost blank, and didn't seem to be focused on his work, giving him a very faraway expression lacking the concentration she would have expected. Despite that, he seemed peaceful and relaxed, almost as though he was daydreaming.

Venturing closer, she watched his hands, trying to see what he was drawing; upside down and with his hand partially obscuring it, all she could see was a few careful lines, until he slowly dragged the pencil down the page in a flowing curve and she saw it was an otter, or at least it would be when it was finished.

"Wow."

He jumped, dropping the pencil and almost tearing the paper, nearly cracking his head against the wall behind him. "Fuck! Don't _do _that!"

Hermione bit her lip, trying not to laugh, as he glared at her. "I'm sorry. You must have been miles away."

Still glaring, Severus exhaled shakily and pushed his hair back from his face. "I was. Bloody _hell_, Hermione."

"I said I'm sorry. I'm used to not being able to sneak up on you; I assumed you'd heard me."

"Hmph." He put the sketchbook down carefully. "For future reference, if I'm drawing, I won't hear you."

"Duly noted." She crossed the room to sit next to him, touching his shoulder apologetically as she leaned past him to get a better look at the drawing. "I've never seen you that oblivious. Are you always like that when you're drawing?"

He nodded. "I can't explain it, before you start pestering me with questions. It's a kind of meditation, I think, but it's not something I've ever been able to analyse, and it only ever happens when I'm sketching, or sometimes – rarely – it used to happen when I was at the piano."

"Phineas called it a trance."

"I suppose so. As I said, I can't explain it. I usually don't even know what I'm drawing at first. It just... happens, subconsciously."

"You weren't planning to draw an otter, then? It's very good," she added, leaning against him as he picked the pad up once more.

"Thank you. No, I wasn't; I didn't plan to draw anything specific."

"Do you ever try and draw something deliberately?"

"Sometimes, but it usually doesn't work as well as if I just let it happen."

Hermione glanced up at him. "Have you ever drawn me?" she asked curiously.

He nodded slowly and a bit uncomfortably, his eyes sliding away from hers. "Yes, several times. No, you can't see the pictures," he added, sounding more like his usual self. "I destroyed them. It was far too dangerous to leave them around, even protected. Especially with your allies helping you snoop around," he said pointedly.

She grinned. "I don't think I could have been any more confused about you, but I suppose finding a picture of me might have done it. And Phineas would never have let you live it down."

"He knows when not to push his luck. It's Dilys who would have hounded me over it. That woman must have been a total nightmare when she was alive."

"Don't talk rubbish," she told him, amused and recalling her earlier thoughts. "I've noticed that you let all your female friends boss you around. I think you secretly enjoy it, you know."

"Hardly. I'm not a masochist." He sounded lofty and vaguely contemptuous, but she could see a very faint touch of pink over his cheekbones and knew she'd struck a nerve. Making no attempt to hide her laughter, she sat up.

"If you say so. Anyway, I'm going to add to it; it occurred to me earlier that it's been months since anyone's done a proper health check on you."

"Oh, you have got to be joking." Severus looked caught between exasperated and amused.

"Not in the least. Come on, get up." Further supporting her theory, he let her tug him to his feet and stood still obediently in the middle of the floor, although Hermione missed the gleam in his eyes that would have warned her he was up to something as she started her diagnostic charms again.

_Just like old times, _she reflected idly as she worked, although mercifully the results this time were different. Oh, there were still plenty of problems – it would likely be many more months if not years before he was completely healed – but all the damage was old now and nothing was threatening. Caught up in examining some of the internal scarring on his liver, she didn't see his hand move until he pinched her backside, making her yelp and almost drop her wand.

Severus looked at her innocently, blinking and generally attempting to look as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth – an attempt which might have been slightly more successful had he not obviously been trying not to laugh. "You bastard," she told him, trying to sound stern. "That wasn't nice."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I have a wand aimed at you, you know." Even as she spoke, she shifted her weight, and suddenly lashed out to hook her foot behind his knee, shoving the heel of her hand against his chest at the same time.

Naturally, he saw it coming and promptly dodged, but he had forgotten where they were standing and his bedroom simply wasn't big enough; he caught the edge of the bed and wavered, off balance. Following the advantage, Hermione rammed her shoulder into him just hard enough to push him further off balance, and after a moment's struggle he let himself fall, seizing her arm at the same time and dragging her down on top of him.

Dropping her wand, she grabbed his wrists and leaned forward, trying to pin him before he could do anything else; he was laughing now, his eyes dancing as he wriggled against her grip. Bracing himself against the bed, he bucked and twisted sharply, rolling them both clean over, but again he'd forgotten the lack of space and they both fell off the bed onto the floor; unfortunately for him, Severus was on the bottom, and he wheezed as the air left his lungs.

"Serves you right," Hermione told him breathlessly, pinning him again, by the shoulders this time, as she fought her own laughter. She'd never seen this playfulness from him before. It had been a mistake to free his hands; his fingers slid under her shirt, tickling her ribs, and she couldn't stop herself squealing.

"Severus, don't! Please!" She'd successfully kept the fact that she was horribly ticklish from her friends for years. Struggling in vain to get away, she almost collapsed, shrieking with helpless laughter. "You bastard, stop it!"

She tried to retaliate, and from the way he twitched he probably was ticklish, but one look at his eyes told her he was cheating and using Occlumency. Hermione tried to do the same, but her concentration was completely gone, as she tried desperately to avoid his hands. Still, she might not be able to win a tickle fight but she knew a few other ways; reaching down between his legs, she grabbed him and squeezed, not particularly gently, stopping just before it might have hurt. "I mean it, stop it!"

He stopped obediently, freezing into absolute and total stillness that made her worry for a moment that she'd been too rough, but he was still grinning and after a moment he relaxed and laughed again. "All right, I've stopped. For now," he added, his eyes glittering with mischief as she fought to regain her breath and her dignity.

"Masochist," Hermione wheezed breathlessly, feeling him starting to swell under her hand as she squeezed him again, more gently this time. She knew she really ought to be angry with him, but she'd never seen him so light-hearted before. "Bastard."

"Such language, Miss Granger," he drawled mockingly. "Someone has obviously been a very bad influence on you."

"Can't imagine who that would be," she retorted, sitting up astride him and trying to glare down at him disapprovingly with no sincerity whatsoever. He sat up to try and get his breath back, shifting her weight into his lap properly, his hands beginning to wander again, and after a moment's struggle she gave up and surrendered grudgingly, leaning in to kiss him. "I'm going to make you pay for this later, you know."

"I have no doubt of that whatsoever," he replied dryly, returning the kiss as his hands slid under her shirt once more, not tickling now but simply seeking to get the cloth out of his way.

He proved quite insistent, and it wasn't long before she was naked and sitting on the edge of the bed as he knelt with his face between her legs; tangling her fingers in his hair, she bit her lip to hold back a moan of pleasure as he slid a finger inside her, licking and sucking. Shifting, she hooked one leg over his shoulder and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes to focus more completely on the sensations. Sadly he was simply too damned good at this for her to stay angry with him, which didn't bode well for the future, really. Still, it was difficult to care right now, as he increased the pressure and slid a second finger into her and she felt the glorious pleasure uncoil and spread through her as she came.

Afterwards Severus tugged her back down onto the floor with him, apparently too impatient to stand up, pulling her into his lap once more and leaning back against the edge of the bed. The pace slowed as he kissed her again, more gently now, and she relaxed as she reached down to guide him inside her, shifting onto her knees and sinking onto him with a low groan of pleasure as his arms settled around her.

Kissing him again, she gripped his shoulders gently as she started to move; once she had settled into a rhythm he began to move with her, closing his eyes and breathing raggedly as he shuddered beneath her. He seemed more unguarded now than she had seen him in a while, his pleasure written clearly in his expression, and when she touched his face he opened his eyes and smiled at her, a soft smile that filled her with warmth. He was more vocal than usual as well, soft gasps and groans escaping him as they moved together, and he moaned her name as he climaxed.

Getting onto the bed seemed like far too much effort. Hermione was quite happy to sprawl half on top of him as they lay on the worn carpet, catching their breath in the aftermath. "You're still a bastard, you know," she murmured, nuzzling his chest and tasting the salt of his sweat.

"No, I'm not," he replied lazily, playing with her hair. "My parents were married years before I was born."

It was the first time he had mentioned his family in weeks; she was about to take the opening he'd given her and finally ask about his parents, but silver fire swirled into existence beside them and the moment was lost as a Patronus formed – Professor McGonagall's distinctive tabby cat.

"_Good morning, Severus. Would you be able to stop by Headquarters today? I'd like to speak to you. Thank you._"

Severus groaned, dropping the arm not draped over Hermione's waist across his eyes as the cat faded. "Damnit. She probably wants to _apologise_ or something," he said, sounding utterly disgusted.

"Is that such a bad thing?" she asked gently. God knows, Hogwarts owed him a hell of a lot more than a simple apology. The school had failed him badly in so many ways; they should have seen what was happening to him.

"Yes," he replied grumpily. "It's going to be unbelievably awkward and she's going to be asking a lot of questions that I have no intention of answering. If she even looks like she's thinking of hugging me, I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"May I come and watch?"

"No you may not."

Grinning in sudden mischief, Hermione stretched across his thin frame to retrieve her wand from where it had fallen, conjuring her silver otter. "_He says he'll be there in an hour or two, Professor._"

"What did you do that for?" he complained.

"It gives you time to have a shower and something to eat, and it gives her time to try not to brood about why I answered instead of you and what we've been up to," she replied impishly, and he laughed softly.

"How very un-Gryffindor. You've learned well."

"You don't get to take all the credit, Severus."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Let me up, then. It's time to drag your little friends back to work too; if I'm not allowed to have fun, nor are they."

* * *

><p><em>I can't wait until I never have to set foot in this dump again. <em>Severus closed the door to Grimmauld Place behind him and looked around the hallway in distaste; his house might be a shithole too, but at least it always had been, rather than being a decayed wreck of somewhere that had once been better. And, of course, his house had never been infested with the Black family. Not that the Snapes were much better, but they had been marginally less insane.

"_Filth!_" Mrs Black screamed at him from the wall, and he rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, you old hag. Go and terrorise your son's ghost; you deserve each other," he said dismissively, walking past the portrait and heading deeper into the house.

He eventually found Minerva in the library and stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Go on, then," he said wearily. "Let's get this over with." For once, he noticed, she actually looked her age; most of the time it was difficult to remember how much older she was. Minerva always seemed to have endless energy and never stopped working. He reminded himself sternly that she had lost her closest friend and oldest companion yesterday and ordered himself to behave.

She looked up with a troubled expression and shook her head slowly. "Oh, Severus. Why did you never say anything?"

He sighed. "What would have been the point?" he asked quietly. "You never believed me anyway. It would have been my word against... I don't even know how many people were there. Dozens, at least, and your favourites among them, and they all would have sworn blind that nothing happened. Nobody would have stood up for me," he added more softly; it still hurt to think about that. Lily had betrayed him; her hurt pride had meant more to her than all her Gryffindor principles, or the previous seven years of friendship. He'd tried to excuse it as just temper, her being angry and hurt because of what he'd said, but... it hadn't been, really. There had been far more to it than that.

"How many incidents did I never find out about?"

Severus looked at her tiredly and knew he should lie. This was a truth she didn't need to hear. It had been so long ago; why make her confront it now? With everything that had happened... with _Hermione... _he truly didn't care any more. "You don't want to have this conversation, Minerva. Believe me. Let it go. Please."

"No, Severus. Tell me."

_Bloody Gryffindors. _He sighed again. "They had a magical map that showed them exactly where I was at all times and made sure they'd see anyone coming before they got caught, and an Invisibility Cloak that let them sneak up on me. What do _you _think?" he asked grimly. During the worst he hadn't had a moment's peace. He hadn't been able to hide, or run, and every time he tried to fight he was hopelessly outnumbered.

She looked very sad, and he looked away hastily, not wanting to see the guilt or the pity in her eyes. There was more than one reason why he had never tried to have this discussion with anyone. "You should have told someone."

"Do you really think I was too honourable or too proud to tell on them?" he asked, staring at the floor. "People knew. Poppy was furious that Dumbledore never listened to her when she tried to tell him about the injuries I kept receiving, at home as well as at school, and barely a week went past without her losing her temper at Horace for not getting off his lard-filled backside to help me. And you remember Lily Evans trying to stand up for me, in the first and second year." But not after that. She had decided it wasn't worth it, not when it never made any difference and just associated her name with his. Severus was pleased to find that saying her name hadn't hurt; that particular wound was closing, slowly.

"Severus, I –"

"Don't say it, Minerva. Please."

"Why?"

"It won't change anything."

"I know, but I'm going to say it anyway." She stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of him; only an inch or two shorter than he was, she could look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Severus."

He looked up and met her eyes. "No, you're not."

"What?"

"You knew something wasn't right, Minerva. You'd been a teacher for a long time, and even a blind, deaf cretin who'd been living in total isolation could have seen there was something wrong with me. There's not a single member of staff who taught me who can honestly say they had no idea I was being bullied. I remember sitting in more than one Transfiguration lesson with visible scrapes and bruises, or my arm in a sling. You didn't want to know, because you didn't want to see what your favourite cubs were really capable of. Or did you think I had decided to slit my wrists on a whim? You must have known part of the reason why I did it."

To his relief, he didn't sound angry. He was tired of being angry and bitter and resentful about it. Plenty of people had bad childhoods; all right, his had been unusually bad, but still, it was no reason to wallow in old issues. He'd spent decades struggling to stop caring about it, fighting not to let it bother him. As it turned out, all he had needed was to find something more important to focus on, someone he knew would fight for him. He knew as surely as he knew the difference between night and day that had Hermione been there she'd have taken on the whole damned school for him, and that made it easier to bear the memories.

The fact that three of the four were dead helped, too. It might have taken the best part of thirty years, but he'd won.

She couldn't meet his eyes any more. "Severus, I..."

"Don't," he said more gently. "There is nothing you can possibly say, not now. It was a long time ago; what does it matter now?" He wondered briefly if she even knew about the incident in the Shrieking Shack; probably not, or she would have mentioned it by now. Biased Gryffindor or not, even Minerva couldn't have ignored that, although Dumbledore had managed to.

"If things had been different... would you still have joined You-Know-Who?"

"No," he replied simply. If someone else had offered him a place to belong where he would be valued, he wouldn't even have considered it. "But then who knows what might have happened? Without me as a spy, half of you would have died in the first war, and it's doubtful we'd have had fifteen years of peace to prepare for the second. I certainly wouldn't be here now without everything that's gone before." He wouldn't be with Hermione, either, because he wouldn't have been at Hogwarts in the first place and never would have met her. Nor would she ever have looked at him twice if he had, without the Healing to link them. Lily might still be alive, too, but she might not, and even if she had been, she would never have been his.

Minerva was looking at him speculatively in a way that always put him on the defensive. "What?"

"You've changed," she said quietly.

"What are you talking about?" he asked irritably.

"You're not angry any more." Abruptly her eyes narrowed. "And I just realised, I never told you what I wanted to speak to you about, or why I was apologising. You were there and listening yesterday, weren't you."

His lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smirk. "Of course I was. I was in the room when Hermione made the Floo call, but even if I hadn't been, I'd have heard her at the other end of the house once she got going. I think half the street heard her, even with my wards." Christ, she really had been magnificent; she was gorgeous when she was that angry, fierce and blazing and gloriously unconcerned with what anyone else thought.

Minerva shook her head, looking somewhere between rueful and annoyed. "I should have known. You've been a terrible influence on that girl, you know." He bit his tongue to hold back the response he wanted to give, on the basis that it would have earned him a slap, and she added pensively, "But I think she's been a good influence on you." She poked him in the chest with a stiffened forefinger. "So look after her. Understood?"

Amused, Severus made a show of rubbing the spot. "When did this turn from you apologising to me into you lecturing me?"

"Oh, behave yourself," she replied with an inelegant snort. "Get along with you. And take the boys with you before Molly ends up strangling one of them."

"I'd rather leave them here."

"Yes, I'm sure you would," she replied dryly. "Go on. And Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I really am sorry, you know."

He searched her gaze uncertainly. Life had been easier as a bitter, lonely cynic, he reflected; always expecting the worst of people was refreshingly uncomplicated. Before, he'd have sneered at her and walked off, but now he found himself almost sure that she was sincere, and he didn't actually know how to respond. Rubbing the back of his neck, he settled for an awkward shrug and a muttered, "Thank you," before making a hasty exit.

* * *

><p>He headed for the kitchen first, on the logical assumption that it was the most likely place in the house to find Weasley. For once it was devoid of anyone with red hair, not even Molly; <em>she must be cleaning something. <em>Unfortunately, the room wasn't empty.

"I hope you're happy now," Lupin said bitterly, glaring at him through bloodshot eyes.

Severus raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you talking about this time?"

"Tonks has gone to take her things to her parents. She's not speaking to me."

_Good. _He kept a straight face and tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. "And what does your romantic strife have to do with me?"

"As if you don't know."

"Lupin, I very seldom know what you're whining about. Usually because I don't care. Have you seen Potter or Weasley anywhere? Some of us have work to do."

"Yesterday Hermione told half the Order about what happened after our Defence OWL down by the lake. Neither Minerva nor Tonks knew anything about it."

He raised both eyebrows, trying to hold back a smile. "That's hardly my fault. I certainly didn't tell Miss Granger about it. I assume Potter was gossiping about the results of his little spying trip into my Pensieve; the girl's always had a thing for defending underdogs. And it isn't my fault your woman didn't know what a little bastard you were, either." It wasn't often he got to act innocent.

"Why can't you just let it go?"

"I'm not the one talking about it now, am I?" he replied calmly. _Minerva was right... I'm really not angry any more. _That must be partly why this all seemed so confusing to him. He'd been angry ever since he could remember, really; being without it now was really quite strange. "Do stop whining at me, Lupin. Minerva will always forgive anything her precious Marauders do. As for Nymphadora, God only knows why she chose you in the first place but I doubt she's really going to forsake it over something that happened nearly twenty years ago. Don't be so pathetic. It serves you right for not talking to her properly in the first place; you can't treat a woman like that and not expect it to come back and bite you." He was well aware that he was being a hypocrite now, but it was worth it to see the werewolf flush.

"As if you know anything about women," he said viciously.

Severus smirked at him, and made it as smug and arrogant as he possibly could. He'd spent the night snuggled up in bed with Hermione, and Lupin had spent it being told off at long bloody last and getting a dose of much-needed karma. He'd spent the morning on the bedroom floor with his fiancée riding him and the taste of her pleasure in his mouth until his orgasm overwhelmed him and made him cry her name in ecstasy, and Lupin had spent it sulking on his own. "I do well enough, thank you," he responded smugly.

In a way, it was a shame Black was dead. He'd love to see his face when he realised he was still single and likely to stay that way but _Snivellus _had ended up with a beautiful and intelligent young woman half his age. Damn, victory felt good. He was perversely looking forward to Lupin's reaction when he found out, too. Hopefully it would be public, and more of the werewolf's friends could see his polite mask crack to expose the inner Marauder.

Lupin glared at him resentfully. "Why do you do this to people, Snape? Why do you enjoy spoiling people's lives?"

"Ah, so that's what this is about. My setting that essay on werewolves, and later telling the school what you really are." He sighed, bored, and leaned against the doorframe. "You asked for it, Lupin, after that stunt with the Boggart. You can spout all the pretty words you like about wanting to help Longbottom with his self esteem, but we both know you couldn't resist the chance to play Marauder again. Publicly humiliating me when we were sixteen was bad enough; doing it when we were over thirty was just pathetic. We both know that had it been the other way around I would have been fired instantly for unprofessional conduct. You can't claim that I deserved it; I ignored you except when I had to take your Wolfsbane to you. All you had to do was return the favour, but no, you couldn't resist. Miss Granger and half the Ravenclaws would have worked it out anyway."

"And telling your students, when they _didn't _work it out? Was that revenge too?"

"No. That was because they deserved to know. You're dangerous, Lupin. 'Forgetting' your Wolfsbane was utterly inexcusable after so many years, and truly unforgiveable. If Black hadn't been there to fight you, you would have bitten or killed four people that night; one of them would have been me, and the other three were innocent children. Unbearably annoying though they were, and happy though I would have been to see them all expelled, I didn't particularly want them dead or furry. I don't think the war would be going very well if the _Chosen One _was a werewolf, or rotting in a shallow grave; do you? Stop blaming me. You made the mistake that endangered people, not I. And you chose to resign; I didn't get you fired. Dumbledore would never have sacked you even if you had eaten someone – especially if it had been me."

Straightening up, he sneered at his old enemy. "Now grow up, stop sulking, and go talk to Nymphadora, because she's the only woman who'll have you and you can't afford to let her go. And stop whining at me. I am not to blame for what you've done. The next time you insist on this confrontation, I'm going to hand your arse to you in a sling, because you're boring me now." He gave Lupin his most insulting smirk, turned on his heel and walked away with a victory march playing in his head.

* * *

><p>Severus had just started climbing the stairs in search of the errant members of the Trio, whistling tunelessly between his crooked teeth, when the front door opened and closed. Over Mrs Black's renewed yells, he heard a woman's voice say in a subdued tone, "Severus?"<p>

Sighing, he turned on the step to see Tonks looking up at him with an almost guilty expression. Every time he saw the Hufflepuff he was taken back to when she'd been thirteen, staring at him with her hair flickering nauseatingly through every colour imaginable as she tried falteringly to explain how she'd almost killed half her class this time. She had been far worse than Longbottom ever had; he'd had to stand guard over her for the full duration of every lesson because she was too clumsy to be left unguarded for even a minute. "What?" he asked irritably.

She looked somewhat depressed, much the way she had when she'd still been pining over Lupin in the first place, brown hair not changing. "Severus, I..."

"In the interest of expediency, let me interrupt you. I've already had two conversations today about Miss Granger's desire to champion the underdog and I do not care for a third; I have better things to do. You were already aware that the Marauders targeted me at school; this changes nothing. It was almost twenty years ago and I have other concerns on my mind. He's sulking in the kitchen if you want to talk to him, but leave me out of your tangled lives."

Studying her expression, he sighed again, picturing Hermione's look of rebuke had she heard him; his conscience was Gryffindor-shaped, it seemed. Relenting, he softened his voice slightly. "He was a boy being led by Potter's father and your damnable cousin, and I was far from a blameless and innocent victim." _At least by that point. _"And you are not so fond of me that you are going to lose any sleep over learning that I was picked on at school; let us not pretend otherwise. Now, if you will excuse me..." He drew his wand. "_Sonorous._"

Taking a deep breath, he turned and called up the stairs, "Potter, put the girl down and get your scrawny backside out of bed! Weasley, stop plotting with your brothers! I want you both down here in five minutes!" He turned back. "_Quietus._" Leaning sideways, he aimed his wand past Tonks at Mrs Black's portrait, flicking her curtains over her to shut her up, before looking back at the Metamorphagus.

She was grinning at him. "Poor Harry. You probably just gave him and Ginny heart failure, you know."

"Shame." If he didn't get to spend the rest of the day having sex, nor did anyone else. Besides, winding Potter up was still fun despite their alliance. He moved back down the stairs into the hall and passed her to stand near the front door. "Bugger off, Nymphadora. And pass the word; the next person who tries to talk to me about this is going to get hexed."

* * *

><p>Hermione heard the front door open and close, followed by Severus' voice. "Do stop complaining, Potter. You should be thankful I didn't walk in and drag you out personally."<p>

"It still wasn't necessary," Harry argued. "Ron and I don't say anything if you or Hermione forget Silencing charms."

She blushed, listening, and smiled when she heard Ron point out, "Yeah, mate, but that's not out of politeness, is it? It's because we're not brave enough to go up against the two of them."

"Very wise, Weasley."

"Hello, boys," she said dryly as they came into the living room, including a smirking Severus in the greeting. From his expression, he'd been enjoying himself. "What's all the fuss about?"

"Ginny wanted to come and join our team because nobody at Headquarters will let her do anything," Ron explained, jerking his head towards Severus. "He said no."

"You don't seem that bothered."

"I'd rather not have to sleep down here brooding about my best mate and my little sister, thanks. It's bad enough with you two." He was trying not to sound sulky, but it couldn't be much fun being the only single person in the house.

"Behave. Cheer up, Harry, you'll see her again soon. And you wouldn't be any help at all if she was here distracting you anyway," Hermione pointed out, looking over at Severus. "Fun morning?"

"Not remotely, but there were some positive moments," he said reflectively. "Are we ready to go?"

"Almost, it's all set up in the kitchen. Have you got whatever poison or potion you're going to use?"

"It's in the cellar. I'll go and get it."

"What are we doing?" Harry asked, still looking a bit moody; clearly Severus had interrupted something. Hermione found it hard to be very sympathetic, since frankly she would rather still have been in bed with her significant other as well.

"Nagini, hopefully, now we've got Mr Weasley's blood sample."

"What do we do if this doesn't work?" Ron asked as they padded into the kitchen and gathered around the table, looking down at the shallow white tray under a large magnifying lens and the little vial of blood.

"Think of something else."

"Well, as long as we've got such a detailed backup plan, we'll be fine," Harry said sarcastically, and Hermione kicked him gently.

"One sarcastic man in the house is enough."

Taking a deep breath, she held it for a moment and exhaled slowly, looking down at the tray again. She knew what she was doing, but still, she couldn't help feeling a bit nervous. Helping out as part of the team was one thing, but being the one to actually do this was something else. Severus came back into the kitchen with a small bottle in his hand, took one look at her and came to stand just behind her right shoulder, leaning forward slightly and pitching his voice too low for the boys to hear.

"Relax. You can do this. I wouldn't have suggested it if you couldn't. Take your time and stay calm."

Leaning back a little to feel the warmth of his body, she nodded, focusing on her breathing. "All right. Is everyone ready for this?"

"Are Harry and I actually doing anything, or just watching again?" Ron asked mildly.

"I might need you to help me sort out the stuff that's Weasley from the stuff that isn't, I don't know how difficult this is going to be yet. Sorry, Harry, but you're just going to be watching, I think." Severus had insisted they both be present, but he hadn't said why.

He shrugged and grinned ruefully. "Nothing new there, and I wouldn't even know where to start with this anyway."

Taking another deep breath, Hermione slowly poured the little vial of blood into the tray; it had been treated with an anti-coagulant already. Drawing her wand, she started with the basic bloodwork diagnostic charms, and over the next few minutes learned quite a bit about Mr Weasley's general health; he didn't have any blood disorders, his blood type was O negative, he had recently had a mild infection somewhere, and there were signs of inbreeding somewhere a long way back in his family tree. That was the easy part, sorting out the blood into its component cells and separating the platelets, red cells and plasma from the white cells. The next part was going to be more difficult, because half of it wouldn't even be physical at all; she needed to find the magical signatures attached to the particular kind of leukocyte that carried it, and she wasn't sure which of the five types it was.

Biting her lip absently, she set to work in more detail, only dimly aware of Severus' quiet presence at her back as he watched over her shoulder. If Nagini's venom was still in the blood, it would have been treated as a foreign substance, a pathogen... That meant it would have affected the macrophage cells, since they wouldn't have been able to remove it, but it was more likely to be in the lymphocytes somewhere. Wait – memory cells were the only blood cells to have a lifetime of more than a few weeks; they'd be the ones to carry magical signatures.

Yes, there it was. This was such a strange process – Hermione was used to dealing with more physical things, objects she could see and touch and move, not with things she could barely sense that weren't technically even there. She wasn't even sure what she was doing right now, just following her instincts, which she almost never did; even just thinking about it made her falter for a moment, suddenly worried again. She had always obeyed written instructions; striking out independently and making something up seriously frightened her.

"Easy," Severus' quiet voice murmured in her ear. "You're doing fine... That's it..."

Shivering, she closed her eyes and leaned back against him for a moment. Taking the hint, he moved a step closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, careful not to impede her wand hand. Letting his touch steady her, she took a deep breath and focused again, following the faint bright traces.

Mr Weasley's magic... Hermione didn't know him very well, but she'd spent enough time at the Burrow to have a feel for Weasley magic in general, and Severus had told her years ago they were all aligned to earth. It was a quiet, surprisingly subtle sort of magic for the most part, solid and strong, not showy; unusual for such a flamboyant family. Wait, what was that? Yes – yes, that was it. Now, focus until she had the sense of it, then look for something that didn't belong...

What on earth did snake venom feel like, anyway? She'd never had to deal with poison. Although... Severus _had _had blood poisoning once or twice, from infections or just from taking substances he shouldn't have. It made the cells that she was studying react as they tried to fight. It was the sense of _wrongness, _of something being out of kilter – any half-decent Healer could feel that. There was something foreign here, something that didn't feel right, but she couldn't find it. _I can't do this!_

She didn't realise she had spoken aloud until Severus replied softly, his breath warm on her ear as his arm tightened slightly and drew her back against his chest. "Yes, you can. You're almost there. You're stronger than you think, you know that. I couldn't have managed to get this far. Come on, now... just a little deeper..."

He continued to croon barely-audible encouragement into Hermione's ear and she let herself lean against him, trying to focus. She had no idea how long she'd been trying to do this, but she was starting to feel tired. That was strange; she was barely using any magic at all, less than she would use to levitate a feather. _Concentrate, _she told herself, focusing on the feel of the magic present in the blood. Nagini wasn't a normal snake, she was a Horcrux, and she had been further possessed by Voldemort during the attack, so two pieces of his soul had been present. Look for his magic, then – she knew what that felt like, hot and foul and thick with contagion.

Wait, there was something there. Traces of infection, but not recent – any injury that old wouldn't have anything left by now, not in a healthy man like Mr Weasley. So that wasn't a real infection. She focused on it; similar to Voldemort's magic, but somehow... drier, and colder. More reptilian? Maybe it was just her imagination, but this definitely felt right...

"That's it," Severus murmured. "That's my girl... go on, just a bit more, and then it's done... Good girl..."

Drawing a shaky breath, she started the separation charms again, just as she had done in the beginning to sort out the different types of blood cell. Her head was aching fiercely now from the sustained concentration this took, but it was working. _Hold on... hold on... there! _She sank back gratefully against Severus' support, leaning her head on his shoulder and watching through half-closed, tired eyes as he reached past her with his wand in his hand; the next step was his, to renew the link between this trace of poison and the original host.

There wasn't much to see, little more than a couple of small sparks glittering in the bottom of the tray amongst the smears of blood. Harry and Ron were both staring intently at it anyway, but she doubted they knew what they were looking at. The feel of Severus' cool power flowed across her skin, but he was working non-verbally, his features set in the familiar scowl of concentration that she adored.

He drew a breath and lowered his wand. "Done. Who wants to do the honours?" he asked, holding up the little bottle of poison.

"It's Harry's turn," Hermione told him. Nodding, he held the bottle out.

"Go on then, Potter. Just pour it out onto that spot."

"We're sure this will work?" Harry asked, eagerly taking the bottle.

"Horcruxes are more vulnerable inside a living host. This won't destroy the soul fragment, but it will kill Nagini, which will have the same effect. Go ahead."

Harry up-ended the bottle. The poison inside was a pale almost lavender colour, and sizzled faintly when it came in contact with the tray, but apart from that nothing happened.

"Did it work?" Ron asked hesitantly after a moment.

Hermione was about to reply when Harry staggered back from the table and dropped the bottle with a cry of pain, lifting a hand to his head; a moment later he collapsed.

* * *

><p><em>Oops. Cliffhanger. I would apologise... if I was actually sorry.<br>_

_This plothole-exploring one-shot by **Explopyro **is cool, you should read it:_ fanfiction dot net /s/8029145/1/Et_Tu_Brute


	48. Chapter 48

_This chapter is dedicated to **grumpymax**. She knows why.  
><em>

_People seem to be getting ahead of themselves... Severus already knew Harry has some kind of weird mystery connection to Voldemort, remember? Hence the doomed Occlumency lessons. He knows Harry can sometimes sense what Voldy's feeling. He's not going to automatically jump from that to realising he's a Horcrux. The man is brilliant, but he does have limits!  
><em>

_Anyway, warning: Here be angst by the bucketload. Again.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love."<strong>  
>– Washington Irving.<p>

* * *

><p>"Harry!" Hermione dropped to her knees next to her friend. He was still conscious, pressing his hands to his scar and trying not to whimper in pain. "Ron, get out of my way," she added, drawing her wand again before pausing as she realised helplessly that she had no idea how to help with this. His scar had been prickling more or less constantly ever since they had left Hogwarts, but the connection had been mostly closed and it hadn't hurt very often or given him many dreams.<p>

Severus hunkered down on Harry's other side, his dark eyes intent. "What are you feeling, Potter?" he asked in a low voice. He clearly wasn't surprised.

She glared at him. "This is why you wanted Harry to be here, isn't it?"

He gave her an impatient look. "This reaction would have happened no matter where he was. Talk to me, Potter – what's going on?"

Harry's eyes were squeezed shut and he was trembling. "I... I'm not sure. I think – I think he must have had Nagini with him when it happened, it's been so quick. I – he's angry, really angry, but..." He paused, opening his eyes and blinking up at the three of them. "Hurt," he said in an almost wondering voice, looking at Severus. "You were right... he did care about her. And... he's moving, he's thinking very hard about something. I think he's going to check on the others, like you said."

Severus nodded. "You're not going to have much fun in the next couple of hours, Potter. Each time he finds a Horcrux missing, he's going to react rather badly. If you see anything or feel anything to let us know where he is, say so."

Harry pressed the heel of his hand to his scar. "Easy for you to say. This isn't exactly fun."

"I've had him in my head as well, you know," Severus told him tartly, but without as much bite in his voice as he would once have had. "I don't know how to stop this, so we might as well get some use out of it. It could be important to know something of what's happening on the other side."

"Okay, fine, but can we talk about something else until he finds the first one? I don't want to think about it until I have to. It hurts."

Severus shrugged and looked at the others. Ron grinned. "Quidditch?"

"No," Hermione and Severus said in unison.

Harry almost laughed, sitting up and leaning back against the kitchen cupboards and looking at Severus. "But you can play; you refereed that match in our first year."

He rolled his eyes. "Not for fun, I assure you. Playing it is better than watching it, but I still find it dull. Shut up, Weasley," he added at Ron's mock-horrified gasp.

Harry shrugged, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead; Hermione decided to make herself useful and stood up. "Severus, have you got any painkilling potions in your cellar, or are there any Muggle pills around?"

"Yes, to both, but I'm not sure they'll help with this. Try making willow bark tea, I know I still have plenty of that. Come on, Potter, get up off the floor; we might as well be comfortable while you do your impression of a canary down a coal mine."

"Why would there be a canary in a mine?" Ron asked blankly as the three of them headed for the living room, and Hermione grinned as she listened to Severus actually explaining it while she made Harry's tea. _I wonder if he even realises how much he's mellowed around the boys?_

By the time she joined them in the living room and gave Harry a mug – she had made more and left the rest under Stasis charms in case he dropped it – the conversation had moved on to what they had just done to get rid of Nagini, although unsurprisingly Severus hadn't tried to explain the technical details. Nudging him further over in his chair, she squeezed in beside him and settled closer to listen.

"I used poison because on this occasion I could," Severus explained. "Think about it. A Horcrux is a piece of someone's soul, infused with Dark magic. There are very few things more powerful or more dangerous; ergo, anything that can destroy one is equally dangerous, unless it is purely physical such as a basilisk fang, which wasn't possible here. A poison was far safer than a spell; I know three different spells that will destroy a Horcrux, and Fiendfyre is actually the least dangerous of them."

"What exactly is Fiendfyre?" Harry asked. "I've seen it used before – You-Know-Who sent it at Dumbledore at the Ministry, and Dumbledore used it against the Inferi in the cave after you'd left. What's so special about it?"

"Simply its power," Severus replied. "It is magical fire rather than physical; it is created rather than conjured, and it burns far, far hotter than any ordinary flame. It is shaped by the will and strength of the caster, which can make it appear almost sentient if wielded correctly, although it has no true mind of its own. It is, however, very dangerous; it is difficult to control and frequently escapes the caster's hold, usually fatally for everyone in the vicinity."

"It's just fire," Ron objected.

"No, it is not," Severus started, before Harry hissed and spilled some of his tea; Ron grabbed the mug from him as they all sat forward to watch him anxiously.

Harry had his eyes squeezed shut again and his face was pale. "He's somewhere I haven't seen before. It looks like – I think he's kneeling, looking for something on the ground. He's – digging? He's worried, concentrating."

"Digging – is he looking for Gaunt's ring?" Hermione asked, digging her fingers into Severus' arm as she watched her friend worriedly.

"I don't know. I think so. He's trying to tell himself this isn't the right spot..." Harry's voice had slowed, become almost dreamy despite the pain in it. "But he knows it is. He's standing now, looking to find out who's been there – yeah, it's that old house I saw in Dumbledore's memories..." He cried out and screwed his eyes more tightly shut. "He knows it's gone. God, he's so angry..."

After a few minutes he opened his eyes again, wincing. "He's moving again. Ow." He tried to smile, turning to look at Severus and swallowing hard. "You were saying?" he asked with obvious bravado.

"Bloody Gryffindors," Severus murmured under his breath. Hermione poked him in the ribs and he half-smiled at her before returning to his earlier lecture. "Fiendfyre is pure magic that manifests as flame. It is also known as Cursed Fire because it derives from the darker spectrum of the caster's magic, as Healing magic comes from the lighter end. In and of itself it is not dark magic, but it comes from the darker impulses and feeds on the more dangerous emotions of the one who casts it, amplifying those emotions and weakening their control both of themselves and their magic. Using it at all creates a certain instability, which worsens the longer the fight continues." He glanced briefly at Hermione with a hint of humour in his eyes. "It leaves the caster vulnerable to... distractions."

She bit her lip to hold back laughter, recalling the first time she had seen Severus use Fiendfyre. He had certainly been rather distracted; she was quite pleased with that particular loss of control. God alone knew how long it would have been before either of them made a move otherwise.

"When You-Know-Who used it, it was a giant snake," she said reflectively. "It took lots of different shapes when Dumbledore used it. But when you destroyed Ravenclaw's diadem, it didn't. It was just thin tendrils of flame, almost like ropes. Why is that?"

"Because the Dark Lord learned Fiendfyre as a weapon, as did Dumbledore," he explained quietly. "I learned _about _it in that context, but I was actually taught to use it when I was working for my Mastery, as a means of creating certain Potions ingredients. Like any magical fire, if left burning long enough, Fiendfyre creates ashwinders, and ashwinder eggs are valuable ingredients in a number of different types of potion. I used it as a tool, rather than a weapon; I've never tried to fight with it, and nor will I ever do so if I can help it. My emotions are volatile enough when I fight without unleashing Fiendfyre and I doubt I would be able to distinguish between friend and foe if I were to use it in combat." He sniffed disdainfully, his eyes glittering. "Besides, although I have my moments, I'm not _quite _as theatrical as either of them. It's a waste of energy to make it look pretty."

"So how do you counter Fiendfyre?" Ron asked. "I know stuff like _Aguamenti _doesn't work."

"It's very difficult and depends on the circumstances. It's better not to try. If anyone uses Fiendfyre against you, run."

"Fair enough. Can you teach us how to cast it?"

"I can," Severus replied calmly, "but I won't. Neither you nor Potter have the control needed to use it; it would kill you and anyone who happened to be nearby. And Hermione's magic simply isn't suited to it; it's too violent."

Harry snorted with pained laughter. "You don't think Hermione's violent?"

"Hey!" she protested, before twisting to glare at Severus as he started trying not to laugh. "And you can shut up."

Biting his lip to hold back laughter, Severus gave her an impish look before shaking his head and glancing over at the boys, who were both laughing now. "That isn't exactly how I meant it."

"Shut up," she repeated irritably, annoyed that the armchair they were sharing wasn't big enough for her to move away. His arm tightened around her shoulder before he kissed the top of her head.

"Sulking's my job, not yours," he told her, too quietly for the boys to hear. "You're not suited to that, either."

"Hmph." Relenting, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Anything new, Harry?" she asked with an obvious change of subject.

He grimaced, gingerly touching his forehead. "It's hard to tell. He's a bit, um, insane right now – I'm feeling a lot of things at once. I think he might be in the cave, though, so any minute it's really going to hurt."

"Short of Stunning you, I don't think there's anything I can do..." she said apologetically, and he shook his head.

"It's okay. This is important. And I do want to feel it when he realises he's screwed."

"That settles it," Hermione said wryly. "We've all been spending far too much time with you, Severus. You've corrupted us."

"Weasley, I wouldn't say anything if I were you," Severus responded, smirking.

"Oh, come on, that one was just too easy," Ron replied cheerfully.

"Ron," Hermione said warningly, although in hindsight she should have known better than to hand him a straight line like that.

"Be careful, she's a violent person," Harry said impishly. His eyes were watering and he was obviously in pain, but he was still grinning.

"I am not!"

"I couldn't walk without limping for three days," Ron pointed out.

"You deserved it," Harry said thickly.

"I never did get to the bottom of that," Severus said thoughtfully, and Hermione looked up at him.

"And you never will. _Will he, boys,_" she added pointedly.

Harry cried out, putting a stop to further conversation, pressing both hands to his head. "He's just found the empty basin. God, he's furious. He's moving fast now, he's already out of the cave. I don't know where he's going but he's definitely got some kind of plan... he's thinking about different people. He wants to see someone, but I can't – oh, it's Bellatrix."

"She's still alive?" Severus asked nastily. "Pity."

"I suppose they're going to Gringotts, then," Ron surmised. "This would be fun if it wasn't splitting Harry's head open."

Hermione reached up without looking and put her hand over her lover's mouth before he could say anything. "Not one word, Severus Snape." She felt his lips move as he kissed the palm of her hand, but he didn't try to speak, although she could feel the vibration of silent laughter in his chest.

* * *

><p>It took the rest of the afternoon for anything else to happen. Harry's scar had been stinging and prickling constantly, but it wasn't until early evening before he nearly scared them all half to death by screaming in sudden pain and clutching his head once more.<p>

Severus put away the wand he had reflexively drawn with an annoyed scowl as Hermione scrambled out of his lap to go to her friend, kneeling by his end of the sofa. "What's happened, Harry? Are they at Gringotts now?"

"He didn't go," Harry said thickly. "Just sent the Lestranges. They've only just got back. They've told him it's gone. He's – oh, God, this hurts! He's _furious, _and he's just cursed Bellatrix..."

"Good," Severus said very quietly, with an extremely unpleasant look in his eyes. "I hope she's screaming."

"Creepy," Ron told Hermione in an undertone.

"I imagine she deserves it," she replied equally softly, keeping her eyes on Harry's face. "What's happening, Harry?"

"I don't – I can't tell. It's all – there's a lot of screaming. I think there was a full meeting, and he's... cursing everyone, I think. He feels crazy. Worse than I've ever – I can't work out what's..." He was shaking. "He's scared, under it. He knows what we've done. He knows it was us. My head – I..." He groaned in pain.

"Enough," Severus said quietly, standing and crossing the room to them. "We don't need to know more. Hermione, do you know the sleep spell?"

"Yes." She drew her wand. "_Dormio, _Harry." He collapsed sideways onto Ron, who complained good-naturedly as he wriggled out from under his friend.

"How long's he going to sleep?"

"Until dawn, or until I wake him up, whichever happens first. Hopefully by then You-Know-Who will have calmed down..."

"I doubt it," Severus said reflectively. "By the sound of things he's lost what remained of his mind. He might behave a little more rationally in an hour or so after he's burned off some of his temper, but his emotions aren't likely to be much calmer." He stared down at Harry pensively. "I wish I knew exactly what the link between them was."

"I reckon Dumbledore might've known," Ron said with a shrug. "But if he did, he never said anything."

"Maybe he did," Severus said slowly, turning and giving Hermione a pointed look.

She stared back at him blankly for a moment before remembering the little vial of memories. "Not now, Severus."

"When, then?" he asked. "How long should we put it off? Bearing in mind that the leader of the other side has just gone insane and is now truly capable of literally anything? This is the last task, Hermione, and then it's _over_. I want this finished." He met her eyes and held them.

Hermione bit her lip. He hadn't ordered her to hand the memories over; he hadn't even asked, which she appreciated. It was up to her – she very much doubted he'd take them by force if she refused.

"What's going on?" Ron asked.

She sighed, still looking at Severus. "Dumbledore left some memories for Severus to look at after we'd got rid of all the Horcruxes. There's one more thing we have to do before we can beat You-Know-Who, apparently."

"Really? Crap. I thought we were done. Do we know what it is?"

"Not yet."

Ron frowned, staring between the two of them, before heaving a put-upon sigh and hauling himself to his feet. "Whatever. You two stay here and be cryptic. I'll drag Harry upstairs and dump him in bed, then stay out of the way or something. Let me know when one of you wants to make sense." He drew his wand and flicked it at Harry, levitating him carefully out of the room.

Severus cocked his head to one side, watching her thoughtfully. "Why are you so reluctant?" he asked.

"Why _aren't _you?" she countered, sighing. "You haven't stopped, Severus. How long has it been since you let yourself just stop and rest for five minutes? It's not good for you. And whatever this is, we both know it's going to be something terrible. For all I know he's going to tell you that we're never going to win, that there's another prophecy or something that means You-Know-Who can never die until it snows on the Sun. I'm not in any hurry to face any more pain or hardship. I've had enough, and so have you."

His eyes softened. "I know, and you're not wrong. I dread finding out whatever's in that vial. But we're so nearly there, Hermione. I've spent decades working for this moment. We can't give up now. One last effort, and it's finished, and we're free. I don't want to give any more of my life to this, not now." Stepping closer, he touched her cheek gently. "I've got better things to do with it now."

Closing her eyes, she leaned against his hand and sighed again. "You're right. I want this over, too. We've got our life to live together. But... what if he _does _tell us we can't win, Severus? Or if he gives us something else to do that's going to take years? I don't want to do this any more. I'm not like you, I can't push my whole life aside for something this dark and terrible and pretend it doesn't hurt."

He moved closer again and slid his arms around her, drawing her close against his chest and resting his cheek against her hair. "We both know Dumbledore didn't know everything. We're proof of that, you and I. Even if he does say something like that, that doesn't mean he's right. But we won't know unless I look." His arms tightened. "We can win this, Hermione. I don't know whether we will or not – I have never told you sugar-coated lies before and I am not going to start now – but I do know we have a very good chance, more than we have ever had before. I'm not going to give up this close to the end." More lightly, he added, "And nor are you. You're as stubborn as I am, and you could no more walk away from this than you could make it snow on the Sun, and we both know it."

Relaxing, she nuzzled into his shirt, breathing in his familiar smell and letting the warmth of his body soothe her jangled nerves. "I know. I'm just so_ tired_, mentally and emotionally worn out. I don't know how you managed it all this time."

"By repressing everything so strongly that I've ended up a neurotic mess," he replied dryly, and she smiled despite herself.

"Well, there is that. All right, then. Do you have a Pensieve here?"

"Yes."

"I want us to look together."

"You know I'm not going to agree to that."

She pulled back just enough to look up into his face, keeping her arms around his waist. "Severus..."

"No, Hermione. Those memories are Dumbledore's last message to me, and he was truly furious with me. Whatever he had to tell me, he'll have phrased it as baldly and as bleakly as possible, and you don't need to hear that. I wouldn't put it past him to simply try to cause me additional pain, too, and you don't need to hear that either. I give you my word that I will tell you everything war-related from those memories."

She searched his gaze. "No more secrets, no matter how bad it is, not even to try and protect me."

"I promise."

* * *

><p>It was a physical effort for Severus to drag his head out of the Pensieve, and he staggered back from the bench, reeling almost drunkenly across the cellar to the support of the damp brick wall. Shaking his head as though he could deny what he had just seen and heard, he stared in silent horror at the innocent silver swirls as the full dreadful understanding began to seep into him, filling in the last little gaps in his knowledge. Dumbledore hadn't needed to go to any special effort to cause as much damage as possible; the old man had simply told the truth, quietly and without embellishment, and somehow that just made it worse.<p>

_Oh, God, no._

Now Severus understood everything at last. He understood just how terribly he had been manipulated, how everything had been controlled, how he had been betrayed and lied to yet again. And not just him. All of them. Dumbledore had been pulling the strings this entire time, pushing them all around the chessboard just to get to this point. A low, animal sound of pain escaped him, almost squeezed out of him by the knot that seemed to have formed in his chest, and he sank into a crouch and put his head down between his knees, not at all sure that he wasn't about to faint.

_How long? How long has he known?_

How far back did the betrayal go? How long had the old man suspected this, and never said a word? Severus couldn't even breathe, shaking in an agony of awful comprehension. There had never been any chance of saving Lily; her death had been foreordained. He had come to terms with that, reluctantly, over the years since her murder. But everything he had done since then, everything he had endured, had been to protect her son – only there had never been any chance of saving him, either. Harry Potter was not supposed to be saved. Harry Potter was supposed to die.

Severus sank deeper into his mind, unconsciously seeking the protection of his Occlumency defences, trying to think through the pain, but it wasn't working this time. He hadn't thought that Dumbledore could hurt him any more; he hadn't thought there were any feelings of trust left to betray. He had thought he was immune to betrayal and lies now.

He'd been very, very wrong.

God, it _hurt. _A child's pain with all the strength of an adult behind it. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was all supposed to have been for Potter, damnit. The boy was supposed to survive, to triumph, not to be sent to his death like a sheep being led into the abattoir.

_How do I tell them this?_

How was he supposed to sit down and tell Lily's son that he had to die? Worse than that, that he had to walk willingly to his own execution? He was only seventeen, and just barely. He'd been an adult for just a few weeks; he had his whole life before him, no doubt filled with unlikely scruffy red-haired children. And how was he supposed to tell Hermione that her best friend was just another sacrificial lamb, that there was no way for them to win, that they had never been supposed to win? They had so few dreams left... he didn't think he could stand to take this away from them. He never wanted to see any of them, but especially Hermione, as broken down and bitter and hopeless as he was. He never wanted to see this kind of pain in her eyes.

_You fucking coward, Dumbledore!_

Even at the most conservative estimate, the old man had to have known for at least a year, if not more. Fuck Slughorn and his memories and the horse he rode in on; Dumbledore was no snow-white saint and there was no way he hadn't already known about Horcruxes and how Voldemort had extended his life. He must have known for_ years_ – since the diary, in fact. It was only a short step from knowing that to puzzling out the nature of the link between Potter and Voldemort.

And the bastard had stood by and said nothing and watched the whole fucking Order labouring under false hope, working for a victory that didn't exist. Oh, they could kill Voldemort easily enough. Without his Horcruxes he was mortal and would die as easily as anyone else. But with the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, dead... their talisman would be gone. That wasn't a victory for the Light, only a different flavour of darkness.

No wonder Dumbledore had wanted to wait until after he was dead, Severus considered slowly. If the old man still stood here now, Severus would have killed him with his bare hands. Rage and hate stirred, cutting through the pain, swirling together in a very familiar darkness; he'd felt like this for most of his life, really, although perhaps not quite this intensely.

_No more. I can't stand any more._

Lifting his head, he stared blindly around the dark, damp, oppressively gloomy cellar, and a very old pain twisted his gut. It was too much. Too many bad memories colliding with too much fresh pain. His anger hadn't gone, he knew it hadn't, he'd told Potter himself that this sort of anger never really went away; he reached for it now and let it boil through him, turning blazing, desperate eyes on the Pensieve.

His wards were thorough. There was no sound at all and not so much as a momentary tremor as his magic burned through him in a frantic and ultimately useless gesture of denial.

Afterwards he rolled over and sat up, concentrating on his breathing as he gathered himself back together. Ignoring the blackened circle on the concrete floor that was all that remained of his bench, his Pensieve and Dumbledore's last memories, he wiped his face on his sleeve, noting dispassionately that his hand wasn't even shaking. The pain and the anger had all been pushed back down where they belonged, deep under the waters of his mental ocean; he had to think about what he did now.

_I promised, _he reminded himself dully. How could he tell Hermione this, though? There was no way to soften it, no way he could tell her that Dumbledore might have been wrong, no hope to give her. If there was any way out of this, he couldn't see it. Potter was the final Horcrux, so he had to die before the Dark Lord could die. But it wasn't about that any more, terrible and painful though it was – he would be sorry if the boy died, somewhat surprisingly perhaps, but even Lily's son couldn't command his soul any more. No, it was what would happen to Hermione. She had never lost anyone close to her before, certainly not such a close friend in the prime of his life, not under such circumstances. She was strong enough to survive it, eventually, but not undamaged, and the pain it would cause her... Nothing was worth that, not even the Dark Lord's defeat.

He should have seen this coming. All the pieces had been there, but he had refused to put them together.

Severus understood with a certain cold detachment that he was right on the edge of madness, of an irreversible nervous breakdown. His sanity had been fraying for months if not years, and now he was on the brink, and if he fell now he was going to lose everything. If he didn't fight this now, he was lost for good. His mental ocean was wracked with storms as his battered psyche faltered and he gathered himself for the final struggle, fighting back with everything he had left.

He rocked slowly back and forth on the floor, his dark eyes glassy and blank, chewing his lower lip until it bled and digging his fingernails into his arms until they too drew blood, focusing on the pain to remind him of the physical reality of his body, fighting to stay aware of what was real and what wasn't. He couldn't let this beat him now, not when he had so much to lose. Snarling curses and obscenities half under his breath, he battled for control of his own mind, forcing some stability on his chaotic emotions, seeking to centre himself and find his balance once more, no matter how precarious. When the tears came, he let them flow, no longer caring for the pride that made him try not to weep; the slight emotional release eased a little of the pressure.

Hysteria came and went, taking a little more of the chaos away, a brief storm that left things a little calmer. Slowly he began to relax, the terrible devastation settling. It wasn't himself he was fighting for; he still didn't give a damn what happened to him. Hermione loved him, and she needed him, and he wasn't going to let anything take her away from him. Clinging to his memories of her gave him the anchor he needed, and gradually everything grew easier.

By the time Severus opened his eyes, he felt exhausted and sick, his mouth filled with blood and his head pounding, but he'd won. Very slowly pulling himself to his feet, he swayed for a moment as he grew light-headed, spitting out the blood and leaning on the wall until the dizziness passed before pulling himself together and starting to clean up and heal the damage. He still had absolutely no idea what they were going to do now, but at least he was sane enough to understand the problem. Shivering fitfully, he looked himself over to make sure he'd removed all physical evidence of his little breakdown, before glancing up the stairs to the cellar door and sighing. If he was to keep his promise, he was going to have to break his love's heart.

* * *

><p>Severus had been down in the cellar for a very long time now. Hermione fidgeted uneasily, refusing to look at the clock again, refusing to admit how scared she was. He kept the cellar tightly warded and she couldn't hear a thing, but her instincts were screaming at her that something was wrong.<p>

When he did eventually make his way up the stairs, she could see in his face that it was bad news; he was very pale and moving oddly stiffly, keeping his eyes lowered to hide his expression as he said quietly, "I need a cigarette first." Walking past her, he headed outside into the dark garden without saying anything else, and she sank her teeth into her lower lip as she watched his shadowy form pacing back and forth outside for the longest few minutes of her life.

She stood up when he came back in, watching him uncertainly. Some of the blankness in his bloodshot eyes was Occlumency, but under that she could see both shock and pain, and something else she couldn't identify. "I was about to ask if you're all right, but you're obviously not," she said gently. "Please tell me what happened." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Severus, please. You're scaring me. What's going on?"

"The end of the world, I think," he said slowly. "I know everything now."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we can't win." His voice was flat, stark, and his eyes were cold and remote when he opened them and looked down at her. "We can kill the Dark Lord, perhaps. But we can't _win._ And he knew it, this entire time. He's been lying to us all."

"Who? Dumbledore?"

For just a moment, rage and pain flared in his dark eyes, before it faded to distant blankness once more. "Yes."

"Severus, please. I don't understand what you're saying. Just tell me." She was certain now that she really didn't want to know, but if it was truly this bad she wanted to get it over with quickly.

There was a long silence before he sighed and said quietly, "Harry must die."

Hermione stared at him blankly. She had heard the words, but they didn't make any sense in her head. Irrelevantly she realised that it was the first time Severus had referred to Harry as just Harry, as a faint buzz started in her ears and she tried to understand what he had just said. Slowly he turned his head and looked at her, and his expression was numb, lost.

"You're sure?" she asked finally, a little unnerved by the eerie calm in her voice.

"Yes. He was doomed from the start. There was never any hope of saving him."

"Why?"

"Because there are seven Horcruxes, not six."

She thought about this for a while, beginning to shiver. Very slowly, the pieces started to come together in her head, numbers adding up and the holes in her knowledge being filled in, as Severus stared at her with hollow eyes. "I see," she said finally, distantly. "How long has – no, don't answer. I don't want to know right now. Is there no way of destroying it without killing him?"

"No."

"Do you know that for certain, or are you just assuming the worst again?"

"Damnit, Hermione," he said hopelessly, without any anger in his voice. "I can't lie to you, not about something this important. The power needed to destroy a Horcrux will kill a living vessel."

"What about removing it?"

"Not that I know of. There's no way of controlling what would happen to it even if we did manage to remove it. It could go anywhere."

"Can't we send it back to You-Know-Who? He can't split his soul again so he can't make any more..."

"No. To reabsorb a Horcrux requires absolute remorse. He's not capable of it." He sighed. "Hermione, don't. I've been thinking about this for hours. We can't win this one."

"I don't want him to die," she said after a moment in a small voice.

"And you think I do?" he asked sadly. "Almost everything I've done has been for him. For a lie." He looked at her with lost eyes and sighed. "I'm so tired of being used," he said wearily.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione started shivering, biting her lip as she tried not to think about it. This was somehow worse than she had imagined. Learning something else that made Voldemort immortal would have been okay, because it might not have been true or there might have been a way to undo it. But this? _Oh, God, Harry. _Her friend had believed for years that he would probably die facing Voldemort, even before they had learned about the prophecy. How could they tell him that he'd been right? That the reason he shared some of Voldemort's abilities, the reason for the link between them, was that... that somewhere in his head, he had a piece of the Dark Lord's soul...?

And almost worse than that was the look on Severus' face, the terrible bleak resignation that said there was no way out, the knowledge that everything he'd ever fought for had been a lie. Dumbledore was _dead, _damnit, but somehow he had still managed to cause even more damage to a man already damaged almost beyond repair. Starting to shake now, she bit her lip harder; _there's nothing we can do. _They had all spent so long fighting to change the inevitable, to alter fate, only to fall now at the last hurdle. Voldemort would die and the war would be won, and that had always been the goal, but hadn't they paid enough already?

The fear was almost overwhelming. Hermione had been frightened almost ever since arriving at Hogwarts, and she had never dared show it; Severus was the only one to ever have guessed what a desperate bluff her bossy know-it-all attitude had been. She had never been prepared for the wizarding world, and _nothing _could have prepared her for this, and she couldn't pretend any more.

Severus had moved closer, and now he rested his hand tentatively on her shoulder. His eyes were calm and distant again when she looked up at him, as he shielded himself and pushed his pain away; she had no idea if it was supposed to be for his benefit or hers. Pain squeezed her again and her vision began to blur before the first sob caught in her throat, and as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close she started crying.

Distantly she was aware of him carefully backing them out of the kitchen into the living room before sinking onto the sofa and drawing her down into his lap, and knowing him he had probably already warded the room so Ron wouldn't hear what was happening, but it didn't really matter right now. Pressing as close as possible, she buried her face in his neck, sobbing helplessly and clinging to him as his arms tightened around her.

It eased slowly as the initial shock wore off, her emotions gradually settling into an exhausted numbness. Severus hadn't said a word as far as she knew – she hadn't heard him if he had – simply holding her as closely as he could, nuzzling his face into her hair and sliding his hands under her shirt to rest on the skin of her back, maximising their contact. Pressing her face against his throat, she breathed in his scent – as much as she could with a blocked nose; she would never understand how some women could still look wonderful even when crying – and finally reluctantly forced herself to open her eyes and face reality once more.

Gently Severus touched her cheek, moving her tangled hair back from her hot damp skin; his dark eyes were sad. "I wish you hadn't had to learn this," he said softly, and she shook her head.

"Don't say anything, Severus, please. I don't want to think about it tonight."

He hesitated, then nodded. "We should try to sleep, if we can. It's been a long day. Come."

* * *

><p>They began to get ready for bed in total silence; there wasn't really anything to say. The dreadful truth hung between them, even if they weren't acknowledging it. When Hermione finally turned to look at him, Severus was staring at her; behind the frightening numbness in his gaze, his eyes were almost pleading, raw need showing in his face. She knew he would never ask, not like this; he was shielding himself as much as possible, pretending to be all right so he could focus on her, trying to be strong when he was hurting as badly as she was. They both needed more.<p>

Shivering, she licked her lips. "Severus." She needed him right now, needed him to make her forget, to feel alive again, even if only for a little while. "Please."

He came to her, touching her face, watching her intently. "What do you need?" he asked softly. "You only have to ask."

She shook her head slowly, unable to articulate it. "I – I need to... not think. Just... feel. Please. I need you."

Part of her had expected him to be rough, desperate, and she was willing to allow him to use her if that was what it took, but despite the volatile emotions in his eyes he was gentle when he drew her to him and kissed her, moving slowly as he continued removing their clothing.

He was almost too gentle, frustratingly so as her own need built, but it didn't take long before Hermione realised that he was looking for comfort more than pleasure, and moments after that she acknowledged that it was what she wanted as well. Quick and near-brutal sex might have blunted their raw emotions briefly, but it wouldn't have helped afterwards; right now it was better to be in his arms like this, winding her fingers gently through hair as he nuzzled close against her breasts, his mouth finding her nipple as his fingers slowly moved between her legs. Her pleasure built gradually, slow warmth overcoming the horrible chill that seemed to have settled over her as he coaxed her higher, stroking and caressing before his fingers slid inside her as he continued to kiss and suckle at her nipples, finally drawing her orgasm out of her in a series of slow, shivering waves as he whispered her name against her skin.

When she slowly reached down to touch him afterwards, she found him only half erect; whatever inner need he was satisfying at the moment, sex didn't have much to do with it. Despite that, he swelled quickly under her hand as she began to stroke him in earnest, shivering and lifting his head from her breasts to bury his face in her neck. By the time he was fully hard she had decided what she wanted to do for him and gently untangled herself from his embrace, easing out of his arms and off the bed; he sat up, a question in his eyes, and she smiled a little as she moved to kneel on the worn carpet.

Understanding dawned. "You don't have to..." he began softly.

"I know. I want to." It was something she had been thinking about almost since they had first become lovers; he was always willing to give her oral pleasure, and seemed to sincerely enjoy it, so surely it was only right that she reciprocate, and she was curious anyway. Maybe now wasn't the best time, but she wanted to focus on something new, to concentrate on him in a way she was rarely capable of during actual intercourse.

She settled between his legs, resting her head on his knee for a moment and looking up at him. He smoothed a few stray curls back from her face with trembling fingers, shadows still in his eyes even as he tried to smile at her. Straightening, she slid her hands along his thighs, feeling the black hairs under her fingers before she lightly grazed her nails over the sensitive spot in the hollow of his hip, feeling him shiver. This close, she could smell his arousal, musky and earthy and utterly male. Studying him for a moment, the thick length swollen dark with blood, she leaned in slowly and opened her mouth to taste him for the first time.

She wasn't sure what to expect. Lavender and Parvati had talked about this quite a lot, and some of their magazines had been quite disturbingly descriptive in some ways, as had some of the romance novels she had read out of sheer curiosity, but all the descriptions had been quite different, which wasn't very helpful really. She had concluded that it must be different with every man and that she would have to wait and see.

He tasted of salt at first, mostly, but underneath that was the taste of _him, _muskier and more coppery than the rest of his skin but still reassuringly familiar. The feel of him in her mouth was one of contrasts, soft silky skin and hot hard flesh, and she felt his pulse beating under her tongue as she drew a little more of him into her mouth carefully. Distantly she was aware of his hands in her hair as his fingers undid the loose braid and slowly wound into her curls, frizz and all, but she was more focused on what she was doing.

She wasn't daft enough to attempt to deep-throat him; she had never done it before, obviously, and doubted that she would be able to do it instinctively. That was something to learn later, when the mood was lighter and more fun; this was about pleasuring him, not about battling not to trigger her gag reflex and trying not to kill the mood by choking. Once she had worked out how much of him she could hold comfortably in her mouth, she reached between his legs to wrap her hand around the base of him, stroking in time to the rhythm she was trying to build; only then did she start to suck him.

Severus had been silent up to that point, but when her mouth tightened around him he made a sound perilously close to a whimper, his fingers tightening in her hair. Awkwardly trying to roll her eyes upwards to see his face, she saw that he had leaned back against the wall, staring down at her as the familiar heat crept into his gaze and began to chase the shadows away.

Settling to her task, the rhythm between her hand and her mouth grew easier as she grew used to the sensations; he was shivering and occasionally his hips twitched as he fought to keep still and not thrust into her mouth, gradually becoming more vocal. His breathing grew heavier, soft whimpers becoming quiet moans as he swelled still further in her mouth and the salty taste intensified. Finally his hands tightened in her hair. "Hermione..." he whispered hoarsely.

She heard the warning in his voice and ignored it; she knew this wasn't supposed to be pleasant, she'd heard plenty of smutty jokes about it, and maybe she'd never do it again if it was that bad, but this first time she wanted him to come in her mouth. Bringing her other hand up between his legs, she fondled him gently, sucking harder as she looked up once more. He was still staring down at her, but his eyes weren't focused, and a moment later they squeezed shut, his expression twisting. He groaned thickly and his whole body tensed before starting to shudder; despite his best efforts, his hips jerked as his hands tightened in her hair again before he came with a low cry.

The sheer heat was a surprise; she had only ever really felt him climax between her legs before now, and it was hotter than she had thought it would be. His warning had given her just enough time to prepare herself to swallow, and it was a moment before she even registered the taste, which wasn't as bad as she had thought it would be – salty and slightly bitter and faintly metallic, but not too unpleasant. Besides, the look of almost agonised bliss on his face as he watched her sucking him clean would have been worth it even if it had been ten times worse.

Slowly Hermione got to her feet, licking her lips and considering the taste thoughtfully. He reached out and caught her wrist, gently drawing her close and pulling her into his lap; she felt his arms wrap around her and cuddled against his chest. Everything seemed very far away right now; the world had been reduced to the warmth of his body and the taste of him lingering in her mouth. He kissed the top of her head gently. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"I wasn't too..."

"No. No. You were – you _are _– wonderful." He hesitated. "I..."

"What?"

She felt him shake his head. "Not now. It will keep. Sleep, Hermione. Everything can wait until morning."

* * *

><p><em>Well, this chapter was never going to be very happy, was it? Let's see what things look like next time once they've had some rest and some time to think.<br>_

_My job has now come to an end, folks. That means once I've had some time to catch up on my sleep and get back into a proper writing frame of mind, I should be able to update a bit more often again, although I'm not sure if I'll get back to every three days. We'll see.  
><em>

_And congratulations to **Caraline Fisher, **who's just had a baby boy named Vincent.  
><em>

_Also PTL is recommended in the TV Tropes Harry Potter Shipping fic list!  
><em>


	49. Chapter 49

_Onwards we go; quite a bit of plot here, in between the angst. Pay attention to it.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"That's the way you make me feel<br>Better than I've ever known it  
>Better than it's ever been<br>I can't seem to control it, no  
>That's the way you make me feel<br>Like the sun coming up in the morning  
>Like holding the world in your hands<br>In a way I could never imagine, yeah  
>That's the way you make me feel..."<strong>  
>– Ronan Keating, 'The Way You Make Me Feel'.<p>

* * *

><p>By morning, Hermione had a pounding headache and had been doing a great deal of thinking. She hadn't slept much, probably not for more than a few minutes at a time; once the shock had subsided, her brain had kicked into gear and wouldn't let her sleep until she had worked things through in her head. Severus had passed out, more than fallen asleep; he had been restless and agitated most of the night, quieting only briefly each time she stroked his hair and murmured wordlessly to him.<p>

Mostly, he was what she had been thinking about so hard, in particular remembering the lost look in his eyes. He had been under so much strain throughout all of this, since the war had started; he had held it together brilliantly, and she was certain that she was the only one who had seen what a toll it was taking on him, but he had been close to losing it before this had happened. He was right on the edge now, and she knew it wasn't vanity to realise that if he hadn't had her he might well have lost it completely. It was always nice to be needed, but she could wish that it wasn't necessary. Still, if she could help him hold things together, that was something – it wasn't as if she could think of anything else she could do.

_Harry is the seventh Horcrux, _she told herself firmly once more, forcing herself to acknowledge it again. There was absolutely no point in refusing to think about it; that wasn't going to make it go away. Acceptance was the first step, right? The only problem was, she didn't know what the second step was. Even making allowances for Severus' natural pessimism and increasing despair, it was very unlikely that Harry could be saved. Hermione wasn't sure they should even tell him; it might be kinder not to.

The prophecy said either Harry or Voldemort would have to kill the other one, but even this new knowledge didn't explain why, or what would happen if someone else killed one of them. If someone killed Voldemort now, he would eventually find a way back, which would kill Harry. If someone killed Harry, though, it wouldn't make any difference who it was – it didn't have to be Voldemort, even if making him destroy his own Horcrux would be nicely ironic. It made her sick to think about it so coldly, but if someone smothered Harry in his sleep right now, Voldemort could be killed as soon as they found him and it would all be over quickly. By 'someone', though, she supposed she meant Severus; she certainly couldn't do it, but she wasn't sure he could either. Asking him to kill the son of the woman he had loved for so long was too much, really, especially on top of Dumbledore. Maybe that was what the prophecy meant – that someone from the other side would have to kill Harry since none of the Order were capable of it.

Unless Harry killed himself, of course. Her friend was noble enough and daft enough to do that if they told him he was doomed. He'd think he was sparing them, or something. That was another reason not to tell him; it would keep him from doing anything stupid and irreversible until they were sure there was no alternative.

That should be the second step, Hermione decided, staring blankly across the room as the sky began to lighten outside and listening to Severus snoring softly as he finally slept more deeply. Work out who else should be told. The third step would be to start dealing with the problem, if they could, but the second step should be to decide who else needed to know; obviously that should be as few people as possible, for safety's sake if nothing else. She bit her lip; the Order as a whole shouldn't know. Losing Dumbledore had hit them very hard, and she had observed just how much the wizarding world needed to believe in Harry over the years; her best friend found his fame annoying and embarrassing, but she wasn't sure he had ever realised how important he was to people. Learning this would destroy their faith and leave them all as hopeless as she felt right now.

Professor McGonagall was the head of the Order now, but there had to be a reason why Dumbledore hadn't told her about the Horcruxes, let alone this. _Aside from him just being a bastard, anyway, _she told herself uncharitably, before trying to figure out how her Head of House would react to this news given that she had just lost her leader and close friend. Probably not that well.

What about the Weasleys, particularly Ginny? They were Harry's family regardless of blood ties. They deserved to know, but what purpose would it serve? They would have to be told before the end, anything else was just too unfair, but it seemed pointless to hurt them until it proved necessary. There was a very faint chance they might find a way out of this, after all – not much of one, true, but still a chance.

Hermione bit her lip again; she didn't really have the right to make this decision, and she remembered how angry she had been with Severus for withholding harsh truths from her to spare her feelings. But, equally, she couldn't begin to imagine how she would have suffered for all those months if she _had _known. She'd have to talk to him and see what he thought.

That just left Harry and Ron. It was going to crush them both, and she could honestly admit that she selfishly didn't want to have to say it. Severus would tell them if it came down to that, but it wasn't fair on him either. Harry had believed he was doomed to die since... well, at least since the end of fourth year, and frankly she was pretty sure he'd believed it since first learning who Voldemort was. But he'd been so much more optimistic recently, as his relationship with Ginny became more serious and they worked their way through the Horcruxes. Taking that away from him now... and Ron would be devastated too. Harry was his brother, near enough.

It was all too much to think about right now; she wanted a distraction. Carefully rolling over on her half of the narrow bed – she was becoming quite practised at that now – she looked at Severus, who had finally managed to sink into proper sleep about an hour ago. He looked exhausted and tense, even asleep. He also looked scruffy, she noticed with a slight smile; 'designer stubble' might be a good look on some men, but it didn't suit Severus at all. If he had grown a proper beard it might have looked okay, but a night's stubble just made him look like a vagrant. Moving closer, she leaned in and kissed his forehead gently, and then his lips.

"Good morning, love," she murmured against his mouth. He responded to the kiss sleepily, slowly opening hazy and tired eyes, and she watched the shadows creeping back into his gaze before impulsively reaching out to lay her fingertips against his lips.

"I've been thinking," she told him quietly. "I don't think we should tell the boys everything yet; we don't know enough. This morning we should tell them that we have to deal with the connection to You-Know-Who in Harry's scar before we can kill him; that'll do for now. We don't tell them it's actually a – a Horcrux, not yet. I know it's not likely there's a way to destroy or remove it without killing Harry, but until we're sure one way or the other I don't want him to know, and Ron's such a crap liar that we shouldn't tell him either yet. And we don't tell anyone else in the Order; most of them don't know about the connection anyway and it'll just confuse things. Let the boys relax a bit while we can; maybe there's something they can do at Headquarters, or something, although we'll probably need Harry nearby to test things. You and I need to research Horcruxes as much as possible and make absolutely sure there's no way around it; I know there's almost no chance, but I have to be sure that we've tried everything before I give up. Okay?"

Severus was staring at her with a very odd expression on his face, and Hermione blinked when she realised what she had just done, recalling her voice growing stronger and more certain as she spoke. Her lover treated her as an equal and no longer gave her orders – and in fact hadn't done so since long before they had left the school – but that was his choice, not a mutual agreement, and she had always treated him as the leader of their little group. She certainly had never tried to take charge like this, jokes about bossy women aside. Biting her lip, she watched him uncertainly, wondering how he was going to react; he'd fought hard to get out from under the control of both his masters.

He continued to stare at her for what felt like an eternity, his eyes narrowing slightly, before finally he sighed and looked suddenly very, very relieved. His shoulders relaxed, some of the harsh lines of his face softened, and he gave her the most beautiful smile she had ever seen on his face. "Thank you," he said quietly, before breaking eye contact to roll over onto his back and stretch.

Hermione hadn't expected that, but as she watched him she abruptly remembered a conversation they had had in the kitchen not long after arriving here, before they had become lovers.

"_I'm a follower, not a leader... I would far rather have someone I trusted simply tell me what to do_."

Half the reason for his increasing stress over the past few months had been the pressure of taking charge of things, she realised. He had fought to get away from his masters because he didn't trust them, not because he wanted to blaze his own trail. It made a great deal of sense, now that she thought about it; after all, he had gone to Voldemort even though he suspected it was the wrong choice, rather than picking his own path. He had wanted someone to follow, which actually explained a great deal.

That didn't mean she necessarily wanted to be in charge of things now, though, but there was no way in hell she'd take it away from him now. If he had faith in her, well, she'd just have to try not to let him down. Telling Harry and Ron what to do wasn't much of a stretch, she reminded herself, and if Severus was happy to follow her suggestions, that wasn't a bad thing. It wasn't as if she had suddenly found herself leading the whole Order of the Phoenix or something equally terrifying. And Severus was still going to be a decision-maker; he wasn't going to abandon her. Even so, it was a bit weird how pressured she suddenly felt; he must have been feeling like this for months.

Severus turned his head and looked at her with the familiar crooked half-smile she adored, and the look in his dark eyes was just as familiar, the one that suggested he could tell exactly what she was thinking. It wasn't even Legilimency most of the time, just intuition that could at times be very irritating. "It's not much fun, is it?"

"If it makes me look as tired and worn out as you have done recently, I'm resigning," she teased gently, and he snorted a soft laugh, rolling onto his side to face her and reaching to pull her into his arms.

"I think you've got a few decades yet before you start looking as beaten-up as I do, and given your starting point I don't think you'd ever get this bad."

Hermione had to smile, leaning in to kiss him; only Severus could manage such a tangled and complicated compliment. He kissed her back, slow and lingering, before drawing back to look at her as the smile faded from his eyes. "Hermione..."

"I know," she cut him off quietly, touching his cheek. "I'm not deluding myself, Severus. I know there's virtually no chance. But I can't let myself think like that until I'm sure we've tried everything, even if it's futile. I have to try, no matter how pointless and hopeless it is. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "Gryffindor," he murmured, trying to tease, offering an attempt at a smile. "Then we'll try."

* * *

><p>She nearly tripped over Harry and Ron on the landing when she went to use the bathroom; she was glad she had thought to steal Severus' dressing gown before leaving the bedroom. The boys usually weren't up this early. "Good morning."<p>

"Sure you can drag yourself away? We're not interrupting anything, are we?" Ron asked rather acidly, and Hermione blinked at him.

"What?"

"I sat up half the night waiting for you to come and tell me what was going on, Hermione. I heard you go to bed, and then your wards went up and I realised you weren't going to tell me. So when Harry came round this morning and asked what happens next, I couldn't tell him anything. Because you two were too _busy._"

Hermione stared at him, remembering the absolute agony she and Severus had shared last night and feeling the despair threatening to crush her, and her temper began to fray. "If that was actually what had happened, you'd have the right to be angry," she told him curtly. "But it wasn't. Now if you'll get out of my way so I can get to the bathroom, we're going to talk to both of you when we get downstairs."

"Nice to know where the war falls on your list of priorities. I suppose we should be grateful you actually remembered the wards this time."

She was about to reply when the bedroom door swung open. Severus' expression was cold enough that even though he was shirtless and still a bit sleep-rumpled and unshaven, he still managed to look profoundly intimidating. He also had his wand in his hand. "One more word, Weasley. I dare you."

"You can't blame us for being a bit annoyed," Harry said grumpily. He didn't look as angry as Ron, but he obviously had a headache and kept touching his scar gingerly. "It's not a lot of fun sitting around waiting for you two to finish so you can tell us what's going on and what Dumbledore said we've got to do now."

"You weren't waiting for any such thing," Severus told him coldly. "Neither of you deserve an explanation, but the reason you haven't seen either of us this morning is simply that we did not wake as early as we usually do. This is your final warning – if either of you say anything more about our private life, I will turn you both out of this house and you can go back to Headquarters, or straight to Hell for all I care." Pushing his wand into the waistband of his trousers, he stalked past them and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

"Don't look at me like that," Hermione said irritably. "I don't find it funny either. Do either of you really think we'd put off telling you anything important just so we could have sex? I didn't tell you last night because it makes more sense to tell both of you at once and Harry was still unconscious, and Severus is right, we haven't been awake very long. If there was anything we could do right now I'd have told you about it already. I'll see you both downstairs."

Severus was shaving when she came into the bathroom and closed the door in Harry's face; he gave her an ironic look in the mirror and moved over to let her near the sink. "And this mood is before we've told them anything," he noted, speaking carefully to avoid nicking himself. "I understand why you wish to lie to them now."

"I don't want to lie to them, and I'm not going to directly lie," she said with a sigh, picking up her toothbrush. "But they don't need to know the full truth yet. Harry's a lot better with his anger than he used to be, and Ron's temper is better too, but this will send them over the edge and I don't want to see you hurt them, or see you get hurt because you're holding back for my sake." He raised an eyebrow, but didn't deny it. "And there's no point hurting them both until we know for sure. It's bad enough you and I feel like this without spreading it around." She smiled a little sadly. "I understand why you didn't tell me what was going on, now."

He nodded, rinsing the last of the lather from his face and wiping stubble from the blade of his razor. "They won't thank you for it when they find out, but this is for the best. Neither of them can do anything to help anyway, and it's going to be difficult enough without dealing with their anger issues at the same time." He smiled suddenly. "You're the one making these decisions now."

"Oh, shut up," she told him through a mouthful of toothpaste. "Go and finish getting dressed, you're distracting like that and we need to go and talk to them." That earned her a pleased smirk and a sarcastic salute, but he did as he was told.

* * *

><p>Two somewhat sullen boys were waiting downstairs, and they had made breakfast. Hermione took that as an apology, since in the face of all their current problems a squabble was hardly the end of the world, and assembled a sandwich out of bacon and toast as Severus made her some tea. "Okay. First, Harry, how's your scar?"<p>

"It seems all right," he reported cautiously. "It's been prickling all the time since I woke up, and occasionally it twinges a bit, but _he _seems to have calmed down. He was absolutely rabid yesterday, and scared under it, but I can't feel much today."

"That's good. It also brings me onto what we've got to talk about this morning. Dumbledore left some memories for Severus, as you know; I haven't seen them, but there seemed to be quite a lot," she added thoughtfully, glancing at Severus, who had his mouth full and simply nodded before swallowing.

"Yes, he told me some other things too, but it can wait."

Taking his word for it, Hermione nodded and looked back at the boys' expectant faces, steeling herself and thinking of fog as she focused on keeping her voice level and moderately cheerful, bluffing as desperately as she ever had to give the impression that she knew what she was doing. "Well, it's not exactly good news, but we knew it would probably be something complicated. We don't have to track down any more mystery artefacts or anything, but it turns out this connection between Harry and You-Know-Who is a bit more important than we thought, and we've got to work out a way to break it before we can kill him. Otherwise it could harm Harry too."

They exchanged glances before nodding in blithe acceptance. "Makes sense, I guess," Ron said. "Did Dumbledore say how we do that?"

"Did you think it would be that easy?" she asked wryly, and winced inwardly at his grin. She didn't want to lie to her friends, but she didn't want to hurt them either.

"Fair enough."

Harry put his orange juice down. "Well, I won't be sorry to get him out of my head. Did Dumbledore know what this connection is? I did ask in fifth year and he didn't know then..."

"So he said," Severus muttered, before raising his voice and replying smoothly, "And what makes you think you would understand the technical details if we told you?" Hermione gave him a grateful look and buried her face in her tea; she was a much better liar now than she had been once, but still, it was more believable coming from the consummate Slytherin.

Harry grimaced. "Fine, don't tell us. So am I going to need an exorcism or something?"

"It's a thought."

"Behave, both of you," Hermione told them. "We don't know yet, Harry. This morning I want to talk to you about all the times you've shared dreams or felt what he's feeling, and the time he tried to possess you, and anything your scar does, and see what I can puzzle out. Severus is going to be trying to find something in his books. Ron..."

"Yeah, yeah, stay out of the way," he said sourly. "This sucks, you know. I feel like a spare part."

"Shut up, Severus."

"I'm not touching that one."

"Ha bloody ha," Ron said moodily, scowling at the table. "I'm serious. What's the point of me being here?"

Hermione was relieved that Severus didn't seem inclined to answer that, instead focusing intently on his coffee. She gave her friend a sympathetic look. "Don't say that, Ron. You're one of us, we're a team. Okay, at the moment you can't really help with this, but you hate research anyway and I'm not leaving you alone with Severus for any length of time. God knows what would happen. There might be something you can do later and we'll definitely need you when we finish this last task and go after You-Know-Who. Right now, if you want to go and see your family or something, you can, but I don't want you to feel like we're shoving you out of the way."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm trying not to sulk, but I feel out of place here."

Harry changed the subject; he had been watching Hermione and Severus through narrowed eyes for a couple of minutes now. "When did you come up with your plan, Hermione?"

"What?"

He was trying not to grin. "Only there seems to have been a leadership change when we weren't looking."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied loftily, more relieved than otherwise at the change of subject. Severus glanced up from his coffee mug with an amused expression as Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

Ron grinned cheerfully at her, forgetting his bad mood at last. "Well, you've been bossing us around for six years. Even Snape couldn't hold out forever. I'm surprised he lasted this long."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not as funny as you think you are, Ronald. But... you don't mind that I'm not telling you everything yet, do you?" she added anxiously.

It was Harry who shook his head. "You're one of the few people I trust, Hermione. You'll tell me eventually, right?"

"Yes. Once I know everything to tell."

"Okay, then." He shrugged. "With you, I know you're not keeping secrets just because you can, or because you think I'm a child. You've got a good reason and that's good enough for me right now." He grinned suddenly. "And if I did know what was going on, you'd make me help research it."

"As if you'd be any help," she teased, surprised and pleased that he was taking it so well. She had known about his trust issues long before Severus had pointed it out to them. "That's the plan for today, then, at least."

"Yes, boss," Harry and Ron chorused, and from the look on Severus' face he had only just stopped himself joining in.

* * *

><p>Severus had spent most of the day holed up in the cellar with the worst of his book collection, most of which were illegal, diligently seeking anything that would destroy something as dark and powerful as a Horcrux without harming the vessel, looking for any new information about possession or anything else that might be even vaguely useful. He hadn't found anything yet, but he'd keep looking even though he believed it was hopeless. Hermione had asked him to, and that would have been enough all by itself but she was also right, they couldn't give up until they really had tried every avenue open to them.<p>

All the same, it was gruesome reading at the best of times, and somewhat depressing when you considered how futile it was. He wasn't surprised that Hermione had gone to bed early, and the only reason he hadn't followed her immediately was that he was getting very tired of the boys insinuating things about their sex life. He'd meant what he said that morning, one more joke and that was it; even for Hermione, there were limits to what he was prepared to tolerate.

At least the house was quiet at last; how two teenage boys managed to make almost the same amount of noise as an entire classroom full of them was a mystery to him. The quiet meant he was starting to brood, which meant it was definitely time to go to bed because Hermione would be doing the same. She would probably be in a bad mood, because Severus was the only person she didn't have to put on a brave face for and pretend everything was fine, but so be it; he'd let her take it out on him if that was what she needed.

Severus let himself into their bedroom and closed the door behind him, carefully making sure the silencing spells were in fact in place; the teasing had struck home. Mostly they were fairly quiet, but the headboard was a bit loose, and occasionally Hermione could be quite vocal – which, admittedly, he enjoyed. Irritably pushing thoughts of his unwelcome houseguests aside, he glanced at Hermione as he started getting ready for bed; she was sitting up and apparently reading, but he'd bet his wand arm that she hadn't turned a page in at least half an hour, and he gave her another day at most before the constant lip-biting drew blood.

She moved over to make space for him without looking up, and as he slid into bed beside her he reflected for probably the hundredth time that they really should Transfigure the bed to make it a bit larger, but he knew he wouldn't. He liked being pressed so closely against her. Settling down, he shifted to let her reach across him to put the book down, somehow not surprised when she turned the light off and lay down without saying anything.

Automatically nestling close against her, he considered his options for a moment before asking cautiously, "How was your talk with Potter today? Did he remember anything that might be useful?"

She sighed. "Not really. He's never understood how it worked, or why, and Dumbledore never told him anything specific. I've written down everything he remembers, though, and I'd like you to look at it tomorrow, please."

"Of course." Severus paused, hesitating over what he was going to say next; he didn't want to upset her any more than she already was, but it had to be said. "Hermione..."

"Yes?" The brittle note in her voice said very eloquently that if he told her it was hopeless again she was going to hurt him. He didn't blame her, really, but that wasn't actually what he was going to say. Shifting, Severus pushed himself up on one elbow and looked at her in the dimness.

"You know I'll keep trying as long as you want me to," he said quietly, "but there has to be a cut-off point where we say it isn't going to work. How long do you intend to keep searching for another answer? Potter trusts you enough to let things lie for now, but he's not going to sit around forever, nor should we keep him in the dark for too long, and the Order will eventually be asking questions about just what we're all doing here. Sooner or later we will be called upon to admit everything to everyone, if we don't find a way out before then, and when that happens..."

"I know," Hermione said quietly in a slightly distant voice. "Everyone loves Harry, but defeating You-Know-Who is more important than one person. We all came into this prepared to die if that was what it took, including him. I _know_, Severus."

He nodded, feeling wretched. "I mean it, Hermione, I'll keep looking for answers as long as you want me to, but I don't know how much time we'll have. The Dark Lord is completely insane and completely unpredictable now and we have no way of knowing if that's going to help or hinder us."

She was silent for quite some time before sighing. "How long will it take you to look through all your books?" Before he could answer, she added, "Let me rephrase that. How long will it take you if I insist you take time to sleep and eat and look after yourself properly at the same time?"

He smiled a little, acknowledging the point, and thought about it. "Most of my library is still at Hogwarts, but none of it would help us now anyway. With the resources I have here..." He thought a little more, and then lied quietly, "Three weeks, perhaps." Realistically it would be far less than that, but he wanted to give her as much time as possible to come to terms with things. He would have said longer, but three weeks was probably the longest they could stall.

Her tone said she wasn't fooled but was choosing to accept the lie for now as she replied, "So, the middle of October. That's our deadline, then, I suppose."

_I wish there was more I could do. _He nodded, tentatively reaching to touch her face, unsure if she wanted comfort or not right now. His Gryffindor was so strong, but he well knew the damage caused if you tried to do everything by yourself. When she leaned into his touch, he trailed his fingers down her cheek and neck to her shoulder, gently but firmly drawing her down into his arms, and after a moment of resistance she yielded abruptly and burrowed into his embrace with a sad little shiver that made his heart hurt.

Cupping her cheek in his palm, he looked at her in the dimness. "I am sorry it has come to this. I wish I could do more." It wasn't fair to burden her now, but Severus knew he had reached his limit. He couldn't give any more; all he could do now was follow her and try to help her as best he could.

"Oh, Severus. You've done so much already." Turning her head, Hermione kissed his fingers gently before smiling and leaning in to kiss his lips. "If it weren't for you none of us would have made it this far. I just need to know you're with me."

"Always," he replied instantly. _Always and forever, love. No matter what. _

"Then that's enough."

He wasn't convinced, but it would have to do for now, because he had nothing else to offer. She nestled closer against him, shifting position in a manner he recognised, and her next kiss was a tentative request for more; she could still sometimes be shy about initiating anything and always blushed like a sunrise if he made her actually say it. Severus liked that, usually, but he wasn't in the mood to tease tonight and it certainly wasn't what she needed now; instead he returned her kiss, pushing his troubled thoughts and emotions away to focus on her, drawing her into gentle, slow lovemaking as he sought to ease her pain even if only for a little while.

* * *

><p>Severus had changed quite dramatically in just a few hours, Hermione reflected. He was noticeably more relaxed and more confident, apparently having a lot more faith in her than he did in himself, and was obviously relieved and happy not to be in charge any more. The change was remarkable, and she wondered again just how different things could have been if Dumbledore had made even the slightest effort to gain Severus' trust and loyalty in truth rather than out of mere necessity. Their situation was still pretty hopeless, but his attitude was much more positive, some of his old defiance showing through again.<p>

Research was Hermione's forte, but this was different. Severus hadn't been exaggerating about the contents of the lab. He had sorted out the books that weren't actively dangerous, but their subject matter was still extremely horrible in some cases, and she was learning more about the Dark Arts than she had ever wanted to. The book she was handling gingerly at the moment was bound in what she was unhappily certain was quite possibly human skin; it was no wonder that he didn't keep these at Hogwarts.

"Why do you even have half this stuff?" she asked, grimacing as she turned the page and was greeted with yet another hideously graphic picture.

"Some of it was inherited," he replied absently, not looking up from his own book. "The rest, I have bought over the years." He glanced up briefly, his eyes glinting. "Imagine the situation we would be in if I was as squeamish as the rest of the Order," he added crisply. "I'm the only expert on dark magic they have. The other side have dozens."

"It's not just squeamishness, Severus..."

"Most of it is. Most of what people refer to as the Dark Arts isn't evil. You know that."

"This stuff is, though."

"Yes," he agreed calmly. "But burying your head in the sand and pretending it doesn't exist isn't going to help anyone. You can't counter something unless you know what it is." He scowled down at his book. "Which is why I am currently learning more than I have ever cared to know about how to make a Horcrux."

"You didn't know already?"

"No. I might have been ambitious, but I certainly never wanted immortality." He gave her a rather wry look. "My life wasn't worth extending, after all."

Wasting a glare on him, and deciding that there was no point ordering him to stop being negative – quite obviously he was only going to obey the orders he chose to – Hermione returned to her rather gruesome reading.

* * *

><p>"Severus?"<p>

"Hmm?"

"Severus, come back to this planet, please."

He looked up with a semi-annoyed glare that held a touch of humour. "You're one to talk. Do you know how many times I saw you almost walking into someone in the corridors because you were reading and walking at the same time?"

"Oh, be quiet." She smiled despite herself, pushing aside her weariness. "What are you looking at?"

"The notes from your talk with Potter. Your handwriting is deteriorating rapidly, by the way."

"I'm not surprised, I haven't written anything in ages. But I'm not accepting any criticism from you. Your handwriting is appalling and always has been."

"True," he replied calmly, his dark eyes amused. "That's what happens when you end up having to try and teach yourself to write, rather than being taught."

"Oh?" she asked curiously. "Didn't you go to a Muggle school before Hogwarts?"

"Theoretically. I was certainly registered, although I seldom attended." He shrugged. "It was a different time, Hermione, and I am from a much lower social class than you. Truancy was more or less ignored because it was doubtful that any of us were going to need academic qualifications, and I didn't exactly fit in." He looked up from her notes once more. "Is this why you interrupted me?" he asked, sounding more curious than irritated; the subject of his childhood seemed less of a taboo now.

"No, I just got sidetracked again," she admitted a little wryly. "I was thinking... what about resuscitation, and near-death experiences, and so on?"

Severus tilted his head to one side, his black eyes turning thoughtful. "You mean killing Potter in a manner that would allow him to be revived?"

"Yes. I know it's risky, of course, but would it work?"

Sitting back, he half-closed his eyes, thinking. Hermione watched him hopefully, but it was almost five agonisingly long minutes later before he spoke, slowly and thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. In theory, it might, but I can see no way of guaranteeing which soul would die – his, or the Horcrux."

"Surely it would be the Horcrux? The body always gets rid of foreign material before damaging itself..."

"Does this count as foreign material, though?" he asked. "Leaving aside the metaphysical problems of dealing with souls – the Horcrux took root in him when he was only an infant. It's been in him almost his entire life; it's a part of him now, and clearly has a strong anchor not just to his body through the scar but to his magic. He's a Parselmouth, after all, and stronger than either of his parents were, because of the Horcrux. I have no idea how we'd untangle the two. We might end up clearing the way for possession of his body by killing him."

"Damnit. I thought I might have found something then."

He shrugged. "It's worth keeping in mind; if we don't find another way, it may be worth the risk. It has a fifty-fifty chance of working, after all."

Sighing, she nodded and went back to her reading, musing; Severus sounded as though he genuinely couldn't care less, totally indifferent, and she knew that was exactly how anyone else who knew him would have interpreted it. You had to be really close to him to notice the shields behind his eyes, and closer still to wonder what lay behind those shields; this was hurting him almost as much as it was her. At least she wasn't alone – Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to do this without him. She'd have had a nervous breakdown by now.

"Severus?"

"Another idea?" Despite the sarcasm in his voice, he was obviously hoping it would be a genuine possible solution, as he looked at her.

"Maybe. What happens if we totally disregard this and go ahead and kill You-Know-Who? What would that do to the Horcrux in Harry – would it activate automatically and possess him or something? Would it kill him?"

Severus' lips twisted in a frustrated grimace. "That's precisely the problem – I don't know, and nor does anyone else. This has never occurred before. Even those who have foolishly put Horcruxes inside living things would never, ever use another human."

"I was thinking we could put Harry in a coma or something while we dealt with it. Or maybe we should just find a way of doing that to You-Know-Who – keep him in a vegetative state, harmless, until his body wears out and he dies of natural causes."

"Tempting, but as long as he's alive, his followers will keep opposing us. We can't hope to stop them all while they have something to fight for; belief is powerful. It won't solve the problem of what happens to the Horcrux when he does die, either, only buy us some time."

Sighing again, she wrote it down on her list of failed ideas, just in case they could get some use out of it later. "And we're supposed to be smart."

"Even know-it-alls can't know everything," Severus replied dryly, smiling a little when she half-heartedly glared at him. "_If _there's an answer, we'll find it. Just think about what would be happening at Headquarters if everyone else knew – they would all be flailing around like headless chickens."

"You have such a high opinion of people."

"And it's one hundred per cent justified. Now will you shut up and let me read, woman?" he asked, and his tone of exasperated affection made her smile despite all her worries.

* * *

><p><em>Before anyone asks, yes, Harry is going to be told the full truth soon. Of course he is. This is too important not to tell him. And yes, for those of you who are starting to ask, we're going to be addressing the Hallows soon too.<br>_

_Now, in the next chapter or two I'm going to be bringing in a character I've never tried to write before. It should be interesting. Feel free to try and guess who it will be.  
><em>

_Next update may be delayed a little, I'm away for a few days this week. We'll see how it goes.  
><em>


	50. Chapter 50

_Look! Plot!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Sorrow is Knowledge: they who know the most<br>Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,  
>The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life."<strong>  
>– Lord Byron.<p>

* * *

><p>They didn't make much progress over the next few days, except thinking of and discarding several other possibilities, but overall Hermione was starting to feel marginally better. The war had suddenly grown very, very quiet; the obscenities at the Ministry continued, but there were no reports of anything else and the Order seemed rather bemused that nothing seemed to be happening. Evidently Voldemort had gone into hiding, save for the times Harry reported him going on a cursing spree. Realising that he wasn't immortal after all hadn't done him much good, apparently.<p>

He had also worked out who was responsible; the Prophet had run full pages on all four of them, complete with much higher rewards for information or corpses. Harry had cheerfully elected to pin them all up on the living room wall, much to Severus' disgust; his photograph seemed to share his attitude and was seldom visible. Hermione was just amused that the photos all dated back to before the Triwizard Tournament, except for Severus' which by the look of it dated back to the eighties; he looked a lot younger and had slightly longer hair. When challenged, all he had said was that he had made a considerable effort over the years to avoid being photographed whenever possible. Hermione had been less amused to note that her own photo dated back to before she'd had her teeth fixed and had obviously been taken on a humid day judging by the level of frizz, but having a picture on a Wanted poster that didn't actually look much like her had to be a positive thing.

The lack of progress was both frustrating and depressing, but Hermione was more grateful than ever that Severus was there. He could spot instantly when the strain of acting cheerful was getting too much, and if either of the boys' conversation wandered too near a danger zone he was remarkably skilled at provoking arguments to change the subject while she regained control of herself; he was also proving rather good at helping to distract her from her brooding and relieve some of the stress once they were alone. Just having someone else share her worries was helping, as was the fact that he so obviously had faith in her being able to hold things together even if they didn't find another way.

He was asleep at the moment, although probably not for much longer, and she snuggled more closely into the curve of his body and the warmth of his arms, listening to his quiet snores with a small smile. Spending the rest of her life waking up to this sounded pretty damned appealing. Absently she traced patterns across the arm draped around her waist, brushing the fine black hairs on his pale skin and moving to the inside of his forearm to follow the edges of the sizeable scar where the Dark Mark had once been, before being distracted from her thoughts when he stopped snoring and sighed heavily against the back of her neck.

"You take a positively perverse joy in waking me up early, don't you," he mumbled in a sleepy growl.

Hermione grinned and lifted his hand to kiss his fingertips. "Yes, because you're adorably grumpy when you've just woken up and it's very cute."

"You're insane."

"You don't seem to be objecting too much," she retorted, pointedly wriggling to push back against his increasingly obvious erection. He didn't reply to that, drawing his hand away from hers and resting it on her stomach once more before trailing his fingertips upwards over her skin to her breasts; sighing happily, she relaxed against him to enjoy the sensations as he nuzzled at her neck. Spending the rest of her life waking up to _this _sounded pretty good too.

Severus was still half asleep, so he was gentler than usual as his fingers crept between her legs, apparently in the mood to take his time about things; that suited her just fine at the moment. Glorious though their mutual passion and excitement could be, she had found that she preferred nice and slow and gradual when she wasn't feeling very happy about things, and when he wasn't teasing her unmercifully Severus was very, very good at the slow and thorough approach. Shifting against him as he stroked her, she closed her eyes as his fingers slid inside her, arching against his hand as her pleasure built.

By the time she reached her climax, he seemed a little more awake, leaning over to kiss her as she rolled lazily onto her back in the aftermath. Smiling against his lips, Hermione kissed him back, running her hands down his scarred back, before impulsively drawing away as he moved over her. "No," she murmured, looking up at him before gently pushing at his shoulder to get him to roll over. "Let me..."

He really wasn't fully awake yet, since it took him a few moments to work out what she was doing, but he got the message as she kissed his chest before starting to move lower. "You really don't have to..." he started, but his tone of voice gave him away and she paused to smile at him.

"I _know _that," she told him in a voice of exaggerated patience, almost absently kissing one of the scars on his stomach. "I liked it," she admitted a little more shyly, dropping her eyes for a moment before looking back up at him and adding, "I liked what it did to you, too."

His smile looked a little sheepish, before he closed his eyes with a soft hiss as she settled between his legs and leaned in to lick him before taking him into her mouth. She hadn't been lying, it was fun and quite arousing to watch the effect she was having on him – and to listen, too, as her usually almost mute lover made a sound very close to a whimper and arched his back before pushing himself up on his elbows to watch what she was doing to him. He wasn't at all vocal most of the time, but apparently normal rules didn't apply to this.

Hermione suspected Severus hadn't had this done for him very often, if at all; it did seem to completely destroy his self control and most of his restraint, and while it would be nice to think that she was naturally just that good, somehow she rather doubted it. Gently increasing the pressure as she sucked him, she listened to his breathing hitch and gasp as he shuddered and smiled to herself, making a mental note not to try and learn to take him into her throat just yet. That would have to wait until she was sure he could stay calm enough not to try and thrust against her, because he wasn't exactly small and if he moved at the wrong moment it could prove rather unfortunate. He groaned, distracting her, and she looked up; he had his head thrown back and his eyes closed, his hands clenching into fists as he grew closer to climax.

Shuddering and suppressing another groan, he reached down to tangle his fingers in her hair, gently pulling her head up off him. "Enough," he gasped breathlessly, his eyes burning. "I want you now."

That suited her just fine; she crawled up the bed and let him pull her down into a fierce, eager kiss before he rolled over to pin her down and ground his hips against her, breathless and hungry. She shifted under him, arching her back and digging her nails into his shoulders, moaning softly into his mouth as his tongue slid against hers before he shifted position slightly and thrust home with a low groan in the back of his throat. He was right on the edge already, and she watched him trying to fight the inevitable as they moved together, his expression twisting as he bit his lip hard and shuddered; tangling her fingers in his hair, she pulled him down to kiss her once more, whispering his name against his mouth and tightening her body around him, and his back arched as he cried out and shuddered again with the force of his orgasm.

Slowly regaining their breath in the aftermath, they settled down again, neither of them wanting to return to the real world just yet. Hermione snuggled closer against his chest and let her mind wander, listening to his heartbeat slowly returning to normal as his breathing slowed; from the way he had nuzzled into her hair and relaxed, he was intent on going back to sleep. "Severus?"

"Hmm?" he replied absently, his voice slow and lazy.

"This is a bit of a weird question, but does Dumbledore have a portrait automatically, or does someone have to paint it?"

There was a short pause before Severus asked quietly, "What on God's green earth made you think of that _now_?" He sounded as though he was trying not to laugh, which she supposed was better than being insulted; a lot of men might be offended to find out their lover was apparently not paying attention during sex, even though that wasn't actually what had happened.

Smiling ruefully, she looked up. "It's not quite as much of a non sequitur as it sounds, I swear. I was thinking it was probably just as well that you don't have a portrait of either Dilys or Phineas here, because they'd never leave us alone and we'd never get a moment's peace, and then I wondered if Dumbledore's portrait was sharing an empty castle with a bored and angry Dilys..."

A very, very evil smile of pure sadistic delight set Severus' black eyes glittering as he chuckled softly. "I hadn't thought of that... Yes, his portrait will have appeared virtually instantaneously, although I think it takes three days for them to wake up. Oh, I really must talk to Phineas next time we go to Headquarters. I cannot _wait _to hear what she's been doing to him."

"You are an evil man," she murmured, grinning as she nestled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. "What about portraits elsewhere? Does he have anywhere to run to?"

"No," Severus replied gleefully. "I'm sure he'll end up with a portrait at the Ministry eventually, but someone will have to paint it and link it to the one in Hogwarts. Right now he's stuck there." He laughed softly once more, obviously enjoying imagining it. Hermione had to admit she was enjoying thinking about it too; Dilys and Phineas knew everything Dumbledore had ever done to Severus, and both of them were surprisingly protective – and they both enjoyed causing trouble. She could picture Dilys cornering Dumbledore and making him squirm as she told him off in great detail for all of it, accompanied by Phineas' sneering commentary. _I've got to get a full report soon._

"I think we're both enjoying this more than is healthy," she noted, stretching. "You've corrupted me." He raised an eyebrow as she looked down at him, and she bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "I didn't say I objected."

* * *

><p>"Something in all this still doesn't make sense," Ron said idly over breakfast.<p>

"All what?" Harry asked.

"The Horcruxes and everything. It seems like there's something missing. Okay, we've been dealing with the Horcruxes, I get that part, but what's everyone else doing? What's You-Know-Who been up to, kidnapping people and stuff? It just feels like there should be another bit to the story."

"That's true," Hermione agreed thoughtfully. "I've been wondering since we found out who the prisoners were that the others rescued from the Malfoys. Some of them were obviously just targets of opportunity, or attempts to find out where we were. Luna was probably to punish her father for writing anti-You-Know-Who propaganda – I wish they'd take the Taboo off his name, that sounds really stupid – but why Mr Ollivander? Or the Gringotts goblin? Severus, did you get any more information from Dumbledore?"

"Some," he replied slowly after a few moments, glancing up from his coffee with a frown, "but it still doesn't entirely make sense to me. I've been ignoring it for now because the Horcruxes and Potter's scar were by far the most immediate problem and because to be honest it sounds utterly ridiculous, but... the Dark Lord is looking for another wand, I think mostly because of his wand sharing cores with yours, Potter. Dumbledore believes, and I think I agree, that he is looking for a very specific wand mentioned in an old story. Have you all heard of the Tales of Beedle the Bard?" Ron and Hermione said yes; Harry said no.

"They're faerie stories for wizarding children, Harry," Hermione explained. "Kind of like the Brothers Grimm. They have morals and things."

"Oh, okay."

"Have you read them?" Severus asked. This time only Ron said yes. "Do you remember the story of the three brothers, Weasley?"

"Er, yeah," Ron said slowly, blinking. "You-Know-Who's after the Deathly Hallows?"

"Yes."

"The what?" Harry asked blankly.

"Story time, then," Severus drawled, sounding faintly amused. "Are you all sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin." Hermione choked back a laugh and promptly moved her chair around the table to settle against him, resting her head on his shoulder to listen as his hand found hers under the table.

"A long time ago there were three brothers named Peverell. They were on a journey and they came to a bridge over a river; half way across it, they were stopped by Death Himself, and they had to defeat him in order to cross. Different stories talk about different challenges; in some tales they had to fight a duel, in others they had to answer a riddle or win a game that could be anything from chess to poker to dice, or bring him some outlandish item. They won, anyway, and each of them was granted a wish from Death."

"That's not how the story goes," Ron objected.

"These stories are very old, Weasley. They have changed over time. I've read several radically different versions; I'm summarising here. Don't interrupt."

"Sorry."

"The eldest brother asked for the most powerful wand in the world, one that could not be defeated. Death fashioned a wand from the branch of a nearby elder tree and gave it to him. He won every duel he ever fought, until one night he bragged drunkenly in a tavern about the wand; someone cut his throat while he slept that night and stole it.

"The middle brother asked for a way to recall the dead, for his fiancée had died a few months before. Death picked up a stone from the river bed and gave it to him, and when he turned it in his hand the shade of his loved one appeared before him. He returned home to be with her, but she was not there in truth; she was even less than a ghost, for she could not or would not speak to him, nor could they touch. He went mad in the end, and finally he turned the stone again to release her and then hanged himself."

"Gosh, this is a happy little story," Harry said. "I bet all the little children sleep really well after this."

"It's no worse than some of our stories," Hermione pointed out. "Little old ladies being eaten by wolves, wicked stepmothers trying to kill innocent children, evil curses and so on. And the original versions tend to have lots of rape and violence in as well. They weren't supposed to be happy bedtime stories; they were supposed to be lessons, or warnings."

Severus cleared his throat pointedly, his eyes gleaming in amusement, and continued. "The youngest brother asked for a way to hide from his enemies, even from Death Himself. Death tore off a piece of his robe and gave it to him, and whenever he wore it he became invisible to all. He used it for many years and lived a full and happy life, before choosing to pass it to his son and allowing Death to take him at last.

"So, those are the Deathly Hallows. The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone... and the Invisibility Cloak."

"What?" Harry's voice was almost a squeak as they all stared at the older wizard.

"Yes," Severus said calmly. "The Hallows are real, and you own one."

"Wait. The story's true?" Ron asked.

"Well, I'm sure the details are false. I don't think the Grim Reaper exists as a person and if he did I think he would be a bit too busy to bother playing games with mortals. But the Peverell family did exist, and there were three brothers; the eldest, Antioch, had his throat cut in a tavern robbery; the middle one, Cadmus, committed suicide; and the youngest, Ignotus, died of old age." He half-smiled. "And the Peverell bloodline can be traced from that youngest brother; later, one of them intermarried with Godric Gryffindor's descendant, and then later still a daughter of that line married a man from the Potter family."

"Really?" Harry asked faintly.

"Yes. You are directly descended from that younger brother. Your Cloak is one of the Deathly Hallows, apparently – I admit, it was quite a surprise to me."

"How do you know?"

"Dumbledore." He shrugged. "There were a lot of memories in the vial he left for me. It was all rather jumbled and chaotic at first, but he was clear enough."

"Well, how did _he _know, then?" Harry asked rather worriedly. "I mean, there must be loads of Invisibility Cloaks."

"There are, but none like yours. They are nowhere near as effective; the charms wear off, they become damaged, they can be detected. Moody's eye was the only thing we know of that could see through yours."

"You-Know-Who is after the Hallows, then?" Ron asked.

"Not all of them. Until he realised we had got to his Horcruxes, he had no reason to want to hide, so the Invisibility Cloak would hold no interest for him; equally, I doubt he wants to talk to the dead, so he probably doesn't want the Resurrection Stone either. He's after the Elder Wand, supposedly the most powerful wand to ever exist, somewhat melodramatically known as the Deathstick."

"Where are the other Hallows?"

"I _think_ Dumbledore had the Resurrection Stone," Severus said thoughtfully. "He hid that from me, but I think he must have. I believe he wanted to keep it if he could. I've no idea what he might have done with it, but I don't know where it is."

"Why would he want to use it?"

"Oh, Albus Dumbledore had a lot of nasty little secrets in his past," Severus replied softly. "He was nowhere near as snow-white as he seems. Either way, it's not important. It's the Elder Wand that everyone seems to be concerning themselves with."

"That's why You-Know-Who wanted Ollivander. To find out more about it."

"That would seem logical, yes."

"Does the wand really exist?" Hermione asked.

"There have been legends about it for centuries. Think of it as the One Ring from Tolkien; supposedly the wand is trying to get back to its true master, which is why its owners tend to die even though the wand itself apparently cannot be defeated in a duel. People commit murder to own it, they steal it, sometimes it appears to betray them to allow itself to change hands. Then it seemed to vanish out of history. The Dark Lord isn't the first to have taken an interest in it; Gellert Grindelwald hunted for it first. He used the sign of the Hallows as his badge."

"What's the sign?"

Severus drew his wand – rather awkwardly, since Hermione was still nestled against his side and somewhat impeding his wand arm – and sketched a glowing sign in the air; a triangle with a circle inside it, bisected by a straight line.

Hermione looked at it. "It looks like the Pink Floyd logo from the Dark Side of the Moon album."

He started to laugh. "It does, rather, doesn't it?"

"Wait," she said, amused by a stray thought. "What did you say was the name of the brother who had the wand?"

Severus glanced at her and laughed again, his eyes glittering as he followed her train of thought. "Antioch."

"Oh God. You-Know-Who is actually looking for the Holy Hand Grenade."

This time even Ron joined in the laughter; Severus had unearthed a few old videos lurking at the bottom of a drawer, including the Life of Brian and the Holy Grail, and Harry and Hermione had taken it upon themselves to educate their friend about Monty Python following Gringotts.

"Are any of the Pythons wizards?" Harry asked. "Because that would be awesome."

"Not as far as I know," Severus replied mildly, "but it's certainly an entertaining thought."

"Did Grindelwald ever find the wand?" Ron asked.

"Oh, yes," Severus said matter-of-factly. "The Dark Lord was directed to Gregorovitch, another wand maker, by Ollivander, and apparently he was running all over Eastern Europe trying to track down what became of Grindelwald."

"Grindelwald was defeated by Dumbledore, wasn't he?" Ron asked.

"Oh, there's a lot more to that story than the public know about," Severus murmured, putting his wand away. "But yes."

"So Dumbledore had the Elder Wand, too?"

"For quite some time, yes. He no longer has it." There was a slightly odd tone in Severus' voice; Hermione twisted to look up at him and found his dark eyes were Occluded. She bit her lip, thinking; who had ever defeated Dumbledore? A moment later she gasped, shocked.

"You've got it."

"What?" Harry and Ron both exclaimed.

She kept staring at Severus. "You Disarmed Dumbledore back in Hogwarts, just before everything kicked off. The wand you took from him... that was the Elder Wand, wasn't it?"

He was smiling now, his expression somewhere between sheepish and amused. "...Yes."

"My God." She thought about this for a moment, exchanging slightly bewildered glances with the boys. "What was supposed to happen? You would have got the wand anyway if you'd killed Dumbledore, wouldn't you?"

"Originally it was supposed to be buried with him, not used. The idea was that, since I would be following Dumbledore's orders when I killed him, he would have died undefeated. The wand would never fully answer to any living wizard, and the Dark Lord would therefore never be able to use it properly even if he got hold of it." Severus rolled his eyes. "Of course, the Dark Lord wouldn't have known that, and once he eventually found the wand and worked it out he probably would have killed me. If Dumbledore knew that, he didn't seem particularly concerned. I don't know what he was actually hoping to achieve by any of this, to be honest. His memories didn't explain everything."

"So is it still his, then?"

"No. I wasn't following the plan when I Disarmed him; to all intents and purposes, I defeated him."

"Why do you still use your old wand, then?" Harry asked. "I mean, it would be pretty handy to have a super-powerful wand on our side, wouldn't it?"

Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her back, pulling away from Severus to stare at him. "Yes," she said slowly. "It would."

He blinked, apparently realising what she was thinking, and tensed slightly. "Hermione..."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" she asked levelly. "The most powerful wand in existence has been in your hands for months, and you didn't tell me, despite everything we're trying to do."

Severus hesitated, his eyes turning distant and Occluded once more, and his voice was calm and flat when he spoke. "Potter, Weasley, may we have some privacy, please."

Neither Harry nor Ron wanted to hang around when it seemed that a row was imminent, and they both scrambled up and took the remains of their breakfast elsewhere in a hurry. Hermione barely waited for Severus to set a silencing charm before demanding angrily, "Why the _hell _didn't you tell me about this before?"

Severus stood up, apparently not willing to sit and be shouted at, but he did back off to avoid looming over her. His eyes were hard. "What difference would it make? Yes, I've got the bloody Deathstick, but so what? It's not going to help unless we know what to do with it. I can't just wave it vaguely at Potter and hope it does something."

"That's not the point, Severus! _No more secrets, _remember? You promised me!"

"That's not fair. You know I would have told you once it became relevant. I thought you had enough to think about." He shook his head and swiped his hair out of his eyes with an irritated gesture. "All this shit about the Hallows makes no sense to me. It sounds like fairytale garbage and I can't see any way it's supposed to help us, so I chose not to add to everything else you're worrying about. I thought Potter's scar was more important."

Stalking across the kitchen, she glared at him. "That's not the point!" she repeated. "I'm not a child, Severus, and I'm _sick _of you not telling me things because you think you're sparing my feelings. I spent a whole year putting up with that crap from you because I wasn't allowed to challenge my professor, but I'll be damned if I'll put up with it now. You've got the most powerful wand in existence and there's an artefact out there that can recall the dead, and _you can't see any way it's supposed to help us?_"

Anger made his eyes glitter like polished obsidian in an expression she hadn't seen from him in a very long time, but he kept his voice calm, albeit just barely, as he replied coldly, "You weren't listening. The Elder Wand will do us no good at all if we don't know what to do with it. As for the Resurrection Stone, I already told you that I do not know where it is; I also told you that it cannot literally bring back the dead. Nothing can. I have researched the subject quite extensively in my younger years and there is nothing that can recall true life to the dead. I haven't told you before now because there is nothing to tell; the Hallows may be real but they are useless to us right now, as far as I know. And it was to spare _my _feelings as much as yours; do you think I'm enjoying watching you getting more and more stressed and upset? I saw no point in bringing up yet another useless idea. Besides, when was I supposed to have told you? We've barely stopped, these past few days, and it's been difficult enough to think about _anything _the old bastard told me without totally losing it. I would prefer not to have another nervous breakdown. If that's all right with you."

Despite the anger and the biting sarcasm in his voice, his honesty helped defuse Hermione's temper, as did the look in his eyes; under the anger she could see how tired he was, and how much he hated the argument. He looked tense and unhappy and was obviously bracing himself for the worst, a theory supported a moment later when he looked away and sighed, his voice turning very quiet as he reflexively shook his hair across his face to hide his eyes. "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. It's not because I'm treating you like a child. Is it so wrong of me to want to spare you any more burdens? I'm trying to make sure you don't end up as much of a wreck as I am. I wish I'd had someone trying to help me."

Slowly closing the gap between them, she touched his arm gently and winced inside when he flinched. "No, I'm sorry. I understand – and you're right, there hasn't really been time, and to be honest I don't need any more confusion. But I'd still prefer it if you had told me, no matter how useless. You said I'm in charge, remember? It's not up to you to decide what I should or shouldn't hear any more, Severus. Don't keep anything else from me." Instinct led her to keep her voice firm; that was an instruction, not a request. She wasn't going to let him get away with this again. Looking directly into his face, she held his gaze, staring into his eyes and refusing to blink.

He stared back at her with a troubled expression; there was some inner struggle going on behind his eyes that she didn't fully understand. After a long moment he exhaled and nodded, lowering his gaze almost submissively. "I give you my word."

* * *

><p>Hermione rejoined the boys in the living room, with Severus trailing after her and looking rather subdued.<p>

"Everything all right?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"Just a minor disagreement. I think we've got it sorted out now," she replied with a cheerfulness she didn't really feel; Severus had obviously learned his lesson now, and she was sure he wouldn't do this again, but she didn't much like being angry with him and he was very clearly unhappy about it. They'd have to talk about it again later; right now they still had the Hallows to discuss. "Where were we?"

Harry looked uncertain, clearly not wanting to trigger anything else, but shrugged and glanced at Severus, who was leaning against the wall and staring at nothing. "I'd just asked why you were still using your old wand, if you've got the Elder Wand."

"I don't like the feel of it," Severus replied slowly after a short pause, seeming to snap out of his brooding and come back to the real world. "I did try a few spells with it, briefly, after we arrived here, but my old wand suits me better and feels more natural. Something about the Elder Wand doesn't feel right to me. That sort of power isn't free and I don't entirely trust it." He hesitated, looking uncomfortable, and bit his lip. "Besides, I'm not convinced that it truly belongs to me," he added softly, "not completely."

"It must do. You defeated Dumbledore and took it. Isn't that how it works?" Ron asked.

"Weasley, has anything in this whole mess ever been that simple?" he replied sarcastically, looking slightly more like his usual self. "I never bothered to mention the Hallows to you because it doesn't really make much sense to me. I'd like to think that one of the main focuses of the war was something a little more important than a nursery tale."

"Well, this particular nursery tale is actually true, apparently," Harry pointed out. "So why wouldn't the wand belong to you? Whose is it, if it's not yours?"

Severus gave them his crooked half-smile; Hermione frowned at him, because although his expression was as hard to read as ever she thought he might be slightly embarrassed, which didn't make sense. "I'm not completely sure," he said slowly. "It's only a theory, but I think it may be because I don't have a – a dominant personality. I may be a Slytherin, but I'm not particularly ambitious, and I certainly don't care about whether or not I own a powerful wand. I think a wand as strong as the Elder Wand... it does partly answer to me, since I did win it fairly, but I think it is also influenced by the person that I answer to."

There was a pause while everyone tried to work this out. Abruptly a slow grin formed on Harry's face, and he elbowed Ron; the boys exchanged a glance before Ron started to grin as well. "Oh. Right."

"What?" Hermione asked impatiently, somewhat annoyed that they had apparently worked it out before she had. Severus gave her an amused look, and both boys were grinning like Cheshire cats before starting to laugh. "_What?_" she repeated, frustrated. Severus cocked his head and smiled slightly, and she blinked at him as understanding dawned. "You're joking."

He shook his head and gave her a faintly disdainful look. "Hardly. This is _me _you're speaking to. I wouldn't be suggesting such a thing if it wasn't likely to be true."

"Wand lore doesn't work like that."

"Nobody fully understands how wand lore works," he corrected her calmly, "not even so-called experts such as Ollivander, and he's the first to admit it. I may be wrong, but I know that the wand is not still Dumbledore's, and I can feel that it isn't completely mine."

"It can't be mine either."

He shrugged. "There's only one way to find out, I suppose."

Hermione bit her lip and glared at the boys, who apparently found the whole thing hilarious, watching as Severus straightened up and stretched lazily before holding out his hand, Summoning the wand from wherever he'd been keeping it; Harry and Ron scrambled off the sofa and came for a closer look, and Hermione peered over their shoulders almost reluctantly.

"Is that it?" Ron asked, sounding disappointed. "I thought the Elder Wand would be a bit more... you know, impressive."

"Dumbledore's owned it for years," Harry muttered. "I'm surprised it's not pink and glittery."

Severus started to laugh at that. "He'd be horrified to know you'd worked that one out, you know. He always thought it was still a secret."

"Secret?" Harry repeated incredulously. "He was camper than Lockhart ever was. He couldn't possibly believe nobody had guessed."

"You'd be surprised. Denial is a funny thing. And Lockhart wasn't actually gay, although I can see why you'd think he was. He was a flaming idiot rather than a flaming homosexual."

"This is fascinating," Hermione said tightly, "but can we move on? I think the Elder Wand is a bit more important than Dumbledore's sexual orientation."

"Why does this bother you?" Ron asked, blinking. "Does it matter if the wand answers to you? I think it's pretty cool."

She paused at that. _Why _does _it bother me? _Maybe... maybe because it was real, solid proof of just how deep things went. If Severus felt so strongly about her that it was reflected in his very nature, that it could affect such a thing as his mastery of a wand... the thought both thrilled her and terrified her. She was only eighteen, and for all her maturity she had simply never experienced something that intense before. It was bloody scary, even though it was what she wanted and what she thought she felt in return.

Nervous, she looked at Severus, wondering uneasily what he would think of her reaction. He was staring at her through narrowed eyes, his brows furrowed and his expression sharply focused, his penetrating stare piercing all her shields. He wasn't actually using Legilimency, but he really didn't need to. She saw the slow understanding creeping into his eyes, saw him beginning to relax, his gaze softening a little; then for just a moment he let his own shields drop and let her see his own fear. Only for a moment, then his expression cleared and he gave her a very small smile before turning the Elder Wand in his hand and offering it hilt-first, reversed across his forearm as though it were a sword.

"I still think this is nonsense."

His slight smile broadened a little. "All that I have, I give to you. Isn't that how it works?"

"I think she only gets half your stuff, actually," Harry contributed, still grinning.

"That's if we separate, fool," Severus told him crisply. "I don't intend to petition for divorce any time soon."

"Well, you have to get married first," Ron said logically.

"All things in time," Severus replied, giving Hermione an amused look as both boys looked startled. "You're stalling," he added softly. "Take it."

Biting her lip furiously, Hermione shakily reached out and took the wand from him, drawing it across his arm as he moved away and holding it up as a shiver ran down her back and a couple of silver and gold sparks glittered briefly at the tip.

"Well?" Harry asked eagerly. "Does it answer to you?"

"I... yes. Sort of." She shivered again, staring at the wand as she lowered it. "I can feel it... waiting, almost. It – it's mine in a way, but it feels wrong. It's not suited to me at all, even if it did fully belong to me." The magic in it was very strange; it felt more alive than her own wand, or any of the other wands she had handled over the years, more aware. It felt like fire magic, dry and hot and really not compatible with hers. Or Severus', for that matter.

"Understandable," Severus contributed softly, watching her. "You are not a warrior, and this is very much a fighter's wand. I didn't like the feel of it either."

"I don't want it," she said in a small voice, unconsciously moving closer to him.

He shrugged. "Then destroy it, or think of somewhere to hide it."

"What? You can't do that!" Ron protested.

"It's Hermione's. She can do whatever she wants with it." Severus touched her cheek gently and made her look at him, his black eyes quiet and intent. "It might be powerful, Hermione, but it's still just a wand. Our magic is inside us, not inside a load of sticks. Wands are tools, catalysts and foci, designed to help us use the magic we already have, nothing more. The Hallows are powerful artefacts in their own right, but they're not really important."

"Not important?" one of the boys yelped – she thought it was Ron again, but it could just as easily have been Harry; she couldn't take her eyes off Severus.

"The Invisibility Cloak is useful, but it can't actually hide you from Death. The Resurrection Stone can't truly recall the dead, only sad echoes. And the Elder Wand might be powerful in a fight, but so what? Raw power isn't everything and it doesn't guarantee victory."

"You-Know-Who wants it."

"He's a fool. Dumbledore wanted the Stone, because he wanted something he can't have; I admit I can understand his point of view, but I can also understand how unhealthy it is. The Dark Lord wants power, because that's all he understands. And you, Potter, want invisibility, because you want to return to a time when you were ordinary. You're all going to be disappointed, I feel." Severus shrugged, his smile turning crooked and his eyes gleaming almost mockingly. "They're pretty toys, but they don't matter. They're not _real._"

Hermione looked down at the wand in her hand, feeling the pulsing dark strength in it and thinking.

Ron said quietly, "The owner of all three Hallows is called the Master of Death."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Yes. But you don't master death by avoiding it; you master it by no longer fearing it. Nicholas Flamel had the right idea, when he gave up the Philosopher's Stone and let himself die. Immortality is an illusion of life; nobody can truly live forever. Living is quite different from merely not dying."

"I don't get it."

"I do, though," Hermione said softly, turning to look at her friend. "At least, I think I do." She grinned suddenly. "I read it in a book. A Muggle fantasy novel. An old woman was arguing with a supposedly immortal creature. 'What don't die can't live. What don't live can't change. What don't change can't learn'."

"Questionable grammar, perhaps, but nicely summarised," Severus drawled, and she grinned at him.

"I'm sure the author would appreciate your opinion, Professor."

"I think I get it, too," Harry said softly. "You-Know-Who is afraid of dying, but... dying is sort of the point of living, isn't it? It wouldn't be life if it didn't end in death?"

"I'm not sure I'd put it that way," Severus commented, smiling wryly, "but yes, you've got it. It's impossible to really put it into words, but you do understand. For once," he added.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs for that, exchanging grins with Harry. Ron just looked confused, before shrugging uneasily.

"Whatever. You're all mad, but whatever. What do we do with the Deathstick, then?"

"It's Hermione's," Severus repeated with a shrug. "She can do whatever she wants with it."

She looked at the wand once more, weighing it slowly in her hand. "I'll keep it with me for now," she said finally. "Nobody's ever going to think to look at me when they're looking for it, so that'll keep it out of _his _hands. But I'm not going to use it unless I really have to, and once this is done I'm going to get rid of it one way or another. I'd do it now, except there's no knowing what might happen and we might end up needing it."

"It never does any harm to carry a spare," Severus agreed calmly. "Besides, I'd love to see the Dark Lord's expression if he ever learns you've got the third Hallow. I imagine it will be extremely funny."

"Yes, we should definitely try to annoy You-Know-Who just once more before he dies," Harry said sarcastically.

* * *

><p><em>Fun fun fun. Lots of guesses for this new character I hinted at last time; you'll be seeing them next chapter. We'll also be talking about the Elder Wand and Severus in a bit more detail, since the scene is too long to include this time as I originally planned (but let's be honest, we've ended on a pretty good line), and our heroes will continue trying to find a way out of this mess.<br>_


	51. Chapter 51

_This chapter is also dedicated to **grumpymax. **Will you stop that, woman?  
><em>

_I know I promised a new character this chapter, but it's going to be postponed until next time, I'm afraid. I changed my mind about what order things are going to happen in. So instead have one of my weird chapters that has just about everything in it at once.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>When the intellect and affections are in harmony, when intellectual consciousness is calm and deep, inspiration will not be confounded with fancy<strong>."**  
>– Margaret Fuller.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus was completely disorientated when he woke up shuddering and sweating from another nightmare – they were rare now, but they still happened. The dream itself left him largely unmoved; he was used to them by now. Most of his disorientation came from the unnatural silence; frowning, he reached to touch the other side of the bed and found it cold. Then again, he supposed it wasn't that surprising; Hermione had still been awake when he fell asleep, and she'd been in a bit of an odd mood all day. Sitting up, he found his dressing gown – for once, she hadn't stolen it – and padded barefoot to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to sluice away the sweat.<p>

He hoped it was just the Elder Wand that was bothering her, because otherwise it meant he was in deeper trouble than he had thought. Today had actually been their first real fight since their relationship had started, and it was certainly bothering him. He'd understood her warning loud and clear; that moment when she'd stood and challenged him had been a very clear message that he was on his last chance as far as this particular offense went. That was fair enough – he'd kept things from her before and admitted that it had been the wrong decision, and then he'd gone and done the exact same thing again. If he repeated this mistake once more – well, he was reasonably sure she wouldn't leave him because of it, but she would certainly make him pay big time.

Given how much this minor disagreement had affected him, he had resolved to do everything he could to avoid a bigger fight – at least until he was psychologically a little more stable. He wasn't daft enough to actually think they would never fight; arguments had been part of their friendship long before anything else had existed between them, and he was guilty of provoking her for his own entertainment sometimes, since she did look so damned sexy when she was angry. Severus was just about savvy enough to know the difference between those fights and real fights, and one experience was enough to convince him he never, ever wanted to seriously fight with her again. Frankly he was embarrassed at how quickly he'd backed down; that was a legacy from Lily, who had left him virtually incapable of genuinely opposing anyone he cared about. At least it didn't affect the rest of the world, he reflected philosophically; he could still enjoy being a bastard to everyone else.

That said, he doubted it had bothered Hermione too much, genuinely angry though she had been. He'd been smart enough to explain himself honestly, ignoring his pride; he did know what he was like, after all, and he'd spent the past couple of months desperately trying to avoid making any really stupid mistakes. She knew him well enough to understand, which was why he'd got away with the threatening warning and been given another chance.

Something was bothering her, though, because she wouldn't have got up and left the bedroom otherwise. Thanks to Phineas, bloody interfering portrait that he was, she knew Severus didn't sleep well alone any more, and she wouldn't have left without waking him unless she was concerned that her fidgeting would disturb him, which meant something was preying on her mind. Feeling a little more awake, he left the bathroom and went downstairs; half past three in the morning probably wasn't the best time to try and deal with whatever the problem was, but Severus didn't see why, not if they were both awake anyway.

As he had suspected, she was sitting at the kitchen table with the Elder Wand in front of her, staring at it with a distant expression on her face and her lower lip firmly caught between her teeth as she distractedly fiddled with a lock of curly hair. Amused at being proved right, he cleared his throat softly to attract her attention.

* * *

><p>Hermione nearly had a heart attack when Severus cleared his throat from the kitchen doorway. Barely choking back a yell, she glared breathlessly at him. "From now on you either make noise when you walk, or you wear a bell around your neck."<p>

The ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Sorry. Habit."

It was obviously too early for complete sentences, she noted. "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head. "How long have you been down here?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. It probably hadn't been very long, if Severus was awake; frankly she was quite impressed she'd made it out of the room without disturbing him.

He nodded to the wand on the table. "It really does bother you, doesn't it?"

"...A little, yes." She bit her lip and looked at him helplessly. "I'm sorry, Severus. I just – I don't know, really. It's..."

Cocking his head to the side, he gave her a thoughtful look. "It might help if you stopped thinking of it as _the Elder Wand _and just think of it as _a _wand," he suggested, reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown. "Here, try this." He threw something at her and she caught it reflexively, nearly dropping it at the sudden sensation.

It was his wand, his usual one. Hermione looked down at the slim length of dark wood, startled by the feel of it. It wasn't common for people in the wizarding world to handle any wands other than their own, although she wasn't sure if it was a matter of etiquette or if the situation simply never came up, but she had touched a few others before and it was usually a rejection, ranging from polite to vicious depending on the wand. This felt different – not acceptance, as such; this wand was tuned to Severus and after so many years it wouldn't work willingly for anyone else. Not that 'willing' was the right word, but most wands did have some degree of awareness even if it wasn't true sentience, a bit like the way the castle seemed almost but not quite alive sometimes. Still, there was a sense of recognition, almost, a quiet acknowledgement.

Blinking, she looked up at Severus, who was watching her calmly. "Well?"

"It's not quite the same as the Elder Wand, but... there's something. Your wand knows who I am, if that doesn't sound stupid. But I don't understand, Severus. Since when do wands work like that?"

He shrugged. "Wands shape themselves to their owners. You should talk to Ollivander about it; it's actually quite interesting. Younger students can probably use one another's wands without too many problems, which is why Weasley was able to use his brother's old wand when his own broke. The older you get, the more your magic develops into your own personal signature, and the more difficult it is to adapt to another wand; in addition, older wands tend to be more resistant to a change of ownership."

"So why isn't your wand fighting me?" she asked. "How long have you had it?"

"Since just after the first war. My first wand... broke." From the almost unnoticeable pause and his tone, Hermione was able to translate that; he'd done something stupid during a post-traumatic episode and broken the wand. He shrugged. "My point was, it behaves like me. Since I would be completely unable to harm you using magic, my wand won't resist you. Air and water are not so very far apart, which helps, and your magic is naturally more... benign, almost, and more adaptable, since you aren't a natural warrior."

"Is it normal, though, or is it just you?"

"I have no idea," he admitted calmly. "I doubt most people would even think of using someone else's wand unless it was an emergency. I would imagine there is some degree of recognition between close couples or family members, but it's probably more extreme in my case, for a variety of reasons."

"My wand's upstairs, or I'd let you try it," she said thoughtfully.

Severus gave her a look of mock disapproval. "I taught you Defence for a year, and you still go off without your wand..."

She snorted inelegantly at him. "The only thing likely to attack me in this house is you, and I don't think a wand would do me much good. Assuming that I'd want to stop you."

That brought a smirk to his face, as he finally left the doorway and came to lean against the table next to her and she stood up to lean against him. "There is that, but it's still a bad habit to get into."

"I'll bear that in mind, Professor."

He huffed in soft amusement and leaned sideways a little to pick up the Elder Wand, absently twirling it between his fingers and regarding it thoughtfully. "Truthfully, I'm not sure what all the fuss is about."

"Really?" she asked. "I tried a couple of simple charms earlier, before you came downstairs. It scares the hell out of me." It did feel dangerous, in a way her own wand never had no matter what spell she cast. Severus' wand... she looked down at it thoughtfully. She could tell that it was more powerful than hers, but it was more the potential for danger than actually being dangerous. A little like Severus himself, actually, now she thought about it, at least when he was with her.

He shrugged. "It is very powerful, yes, and as I said before that makes me somewhat suspicious, but there doesn't seem to be anything special about it. It's just a stronger version of our existing wands."

"It can't be defeated."

"Supposedly," he agreed, turning it over in his fingers. "And I'm sure that's true in terms of raw power. But I've taught you about duelling – all the power in the world isn't going to help if your opponent is faster or smarter. I'd wager this can still be outwitted if it's in the wrong hands."

"Then why does You-Know-Who want it?" she asked mischievously. "He was a Slytherin; shouldn't he know better?"

Severus started laughing at that. "Impudent wench," he chided her, his eyes dancing with humour. "Here, take it." Somewhat reluctantly, she took the wand off him, handing his back; he put it back in the deep pocket of his dressing gown, watching her turning the Elder Wand over in her fingers. "It still bothers you," he noted quietly.

Awkwardly she looked up at him. "A little," she admitted uncertainly. She'd spent most of the day thinking about it, about what this said about Severus. The boys had been teasing her quite a lot – when Severus wasn't in earshot – but despite what they obviously thought, she knew he hadn't meant it sexually when he spoke of not having a dominant personality; in some ways that would have been easier to understand, even if it made her a bit uncomfortable, but in fact Severus was usually in charge during sex, as much as there was someone 'in charge' when they made love. He did sometimes like her to be in control, but only sometimes. It was linked to his reluctance to lead, and his odd and strained relationship with Dumbledore, and possibly Lily, and his status among the Death Eaters, and all sorts of things, and it made for quite a daunting tangle.

Severus regarded her thoughtfully. "It shouldn't. I don't have a problem with it." He frowned slightly, trying to find the right words. "I don't mean to make it sound as if you somehow own me, or anything so extreme. That's not what this is. It's the same tendency that has shaped a lot of my past, but it is not the same situation. This was my choice, Hermione." He smiled suddenly, his black eyes glittering. "I hate to disappoint you, but you do not control me, not completely, and sadly I'm not going to turn into your willing slave." He paused just long enough, before adding slyly, "Unless you ask nicely."

"Oh, shut up." She couldn't quite hold back either the laugh or the blush. "You know damned well that's not what I meant."

"Yes, I know." In a rare display of spontaneous affection, he moved closer and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "You worry far too much about simple things. I'm _happy _to have someone to follow that I can trust. You have no idea what a relief it actually is, after so many years under the control of someone I never trusted at all or of someone else who betrayed my trust."

Hermione leaned against him, nuzzling against the softness of his rather worn dressing gown and breathing in his familiar scent. "I think it's just because... for so many years you've always seemed so independent, so individual."

He rested his cheek against her hair and was silent for a long moment before sighing. "It was out of necessity, more than desire. I never had anyone to look out for me, so I had to learn to look after myself. It was never my idea, or I might have been happier about it. I know you've worked out why I joined the Death Eaters in the first place by now..."

"I think so. After you lost Lily, and then Dumbledore made it so obvious that his side didn't want you, you were looking for someone who did." She realised it was the first time she'd said Lily's name to him, but he hadn't even tensed slightly.

"Yes. Initially I only went to hear the Dark Lord speak to shut Lucius up – he was adamant that I'd do well with them. I didn't really know what was going on in the war, on either side. The Dark Lord was very different then. You've seen memories of Tom Riddle – he was still young, still handsome, and he was charismatic and powerful and gifted with rare insight. He only had to speak to me once for a few minutes to guess exactly what I was looking for, and that's what he offered me. It took a long time for me to realise it was false, and given how cynical I am, that is no mean feat." He sighed.

"Until recently, the first year I spent as a Death Eater was the happiest of my life. I was kept out of the true bloody darkness of the fighting and I didn't want to believe any of the rumours or the news reports. It felt like I had a place to belong where I was valued. I wouldn't have got my Mastery without the early sponsorship the Dark Lord arranged for me – wizarding academia is very much a pureblood aristocratic world still. It was a chance at a life I could never know any other way. And it was a lie."

"That's why you stayed with our side this time around, isn't it?" Hermione said quietly, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing closer. "Apart from knowing the difference between right and wrong, I mean. It's what kept you going through everything that happened to you."

"Yes. I wanted revenge for that lie. Because for a short time I was happy, and for the first time in my life I was sure of myself and where I fitted in. And then he took that away from me." Severus breathed out slowly. "It was the last great betrayal. My parents were the first; they should have loved me, and didn't. Dumbledore should have looked after me, and didn't. Lily... it was complicated. And then the Dark Lord showed that he was no different after all and that my fine new life was the same as the old one. But despite it all, I put up with what each of them did to me, because I still hoped. I still wanted it to be real. Since then, I have been living in a vacuum, in almost total isolation. But not through choice."

He drew back enough to look down at her, and his dark eyes were warm, crinkled slightly at the corners in not quite a smile. "Believe me, Hermione, I'm much happier like this. I don't _want _to carve my own path any more. It's bloody miserable. Besides," he added more lightly, "it's just a wand. You're over-thinking it."

"I'm good at that," she said rather ruefully, feeling better. That 'until recently' had been a telling comment. She might not command Severus' soul, but she was pretty sure she owned his heart, which was certainly nice to know. And really, he was such a stubborn bastard that she hadn't really expected him to suddenly start meekly obeying her every whim – it would be downright creepy if he did, frankly. "This still doesn't really explain what we're supposed to do with the Elder Wand, though. Are we supposed to give it to Harry, let him Disarm one of us or something?"

Severus gave her a rather blank look. "Why?"

She frowned and bit her lip. "I don't know, now I've said it. I suppose I just assumed it would be him."

"Nothing says the Hallows are even relevant," Severus pointed out. "I think Dumbledore was just concerned with keeping the wand away from the Dark Lord. The prophecy says Potter has the power to defeat the Dark Lord, but I don't think it refers to the Hallows. Anyone can use the Elder Wand once they've won it. 'Letting' him Disarm one of us wouldn't work anyway – that's not a victory. It's the same logic that Dumbledore used – had I done as I was told, he'd have died undefeated master of it." He shrugged. "It's a nice idea, using the super-powerful wand he's been hunting for to kill him, but I don't think it's necessary. Do bear in mind it was the Daily Prophet that christened Potter the 'Chosen One', not anyone remotely rational."

Hermione stifled a laugh, remembering her dealings with the media. _I'd love to see Severus talk to Rita someday. _"Good point. This shared-ownership thing is still weird, though. Are we supposed to use it together, or something?"

"I have no idea." Severus frowned suddenly and twisted to look up at the clock on the wall. "I'm not really tired – this is quite a normal time for me to be awake – but it's nearly five in the morning now," he observed.

"God, is it really?" Until he'd said it, she hadn't realised how tired she was. "This isn't the sort of conversation we could have had in daylight," she said thoughtfully. "I think people's minds work differently at night."

"They do," he agreed. "I used to get a lot of research developed at stupid hours of the night. You get ideas at night that would never occur to you by day."

"We should become nocturnal until this is sorted out, then."

He chuckled softly. "If you're proposing that we spend all day in bed..."

"Oh, behave yourself. Come on. I want to go back to sleep, and you know you don't sleep enough."

* * *

><p>Most of the next two weeks passed in a blur of endless days and sleepless nights as September drew to a close. Hermione was getting more stressed out, and both the boys were clearly starting to worry. Severus was running out of ways to try and ease the pressure on his lover or to distract Potter and Weasley, and the tension was getting to him. Minerva had written via Potter's owl to ask what was going on, reporting that the Order were growing restless, and he'd told her that something had come up to delay them, but he wasn't going to be able to stall for much longer.<p>

The Order weren't the only ones, either. He wasn't remotely surprised when his evening cigarette was interrupted by the back door opening and Potter rather cautiously approaching him – Hermione was having a bath, or the boy wouldn't have dared. "What do you want?" he asked, unable to summon any incentive to keep his irritation out of his voice. He was fed up with his houseguests now and would very much like for them to piss off somewhere else more often than they actually did.

His tone earned him a sullen look, but the unspoken tentative truce between the males in the house was still holding, albeit only barely. Potter shrugged and picked his way through the weeds to stand nearby, making a face at the smell from his cigarette. "I wanted to ask you what's really going on, sir."

Amused at the regression to 'sir' – the boys weren't sure how to address him; he hadn't told them they could use his first name – Severus glanced at him. "And you think I will tell you because...?"

"Because I deserve to know?" Potter asked hopefully.

"Says who?"

There was a pause before he sighed. "Please."

Severus took another drag on his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before exhaling slowly. "We haven't told you for a reason, Potter. You trust Hermione, don't you?"

He fidgeted. "I know she's trying to do what's best, but... it's obviously bad. Is it that this link can't be broken? Can he still use it, or what?"

"I'm not going to answer any of your questions. Wait. When you need to know, we'll tell you." Potter opened his mouth, and he continued smoothly, "If you even think of saying _it's not fair _I will hex you. You're too old to whine. Life isn't fair. Hermione has your wellbeing at heart and when you do learn what's going on you'll understand why she wanted to wait."

"And you?"

_I do what she says_, he thought rather whimsically_. _It was tempting to say it just to see the boy blush, actually, but Severus restrained himself and merely shrugged. "I do _not _have your wellbeing at heart," he replied dryly. It was very strange to see James Potter's grin without any malice behind it.

"I worked that out all by myself, thanks. You won't tell me, will you?"

"Not until Hermione decides you should know. She knows you better than I do, and I trust her judgement. We're working on it, Potter. Don't hassle her about it. It wasn't an easy decision; she knows how much you dislike being kept out of the loop. Pretend you don't think anything is wrong, and try to stay out of our way. And don't let her catch you trying this again," he added dryly. "She won't be pleased."

"Yeah, I know." He hesitated and took a deep breath, steeling himself for something. Severus was expecting to be asked about Lily at last, or perhaps the Marauders, so it was a shock when the boy asked tentatively, "You and Hermione... it's really serious, isn't it?"

He gave Potter an incredulous look. "It has absolutely nothing to do with you. Keep your nose out, if you don't want to lose it." Part of him wanted to laugh; the notion of this boy trying to be the protective guard, assessing his commitment and ready to threaten him, was ludicrous.

"She's my best friend and I don't want to see her hurt," he said stubbornly.

Severus regarded him for a long moment, finishing his cigarette. "Then for once, you and I have the same goal in mind," he said finally. He and Potter would never like or trust one another, there was too much history there, but they had reached a sort of understanding over the past year. "Now get lost."

"Yessir."

* * *

><p>Late one night at the beginning of October, Hermione lay awake listening to the rain outside. She could tell from the sound of his breathing that Severus was awake as well, but neither of them had spoken for some time. She blinked wearily, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, so tired that she was close to tears, and finally said quietly, "We've been through all your books now, haven't we."<p>

"Yes," Severus agreed equally quietly, his breath stirring her hair for a moment as he shifted closer to press against her back.

"And we didn't find anything. Not one damned thing."

"No."

"And all our ideas have been useless. Is there anywhere else we can look?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. All my contacts have gone underground months ago and it would be too dangerous to try and locate anyone who might know something. There's nothing at Hogwarts. And none of the Order would have anything about this except maybe Dumbledore himself, and if he did know anything useful he didn't say so."

"I guess that's it, then." She bit her lip hard and swallowed, trying not to cry. "...Damnit."

His arms tightened around her and he nuzzled her hair to one side to kiss the back of her neck, although he didn't say anything for a while. Finally he sighed heavily and she felt him press his forehead against her shoulder. "We still have time on our side. The Dark Lord doesn't know. But unless one of us has a divine flash of inspiration... that's it."

She choked back a sob, and he moved back against the wall to give her enough space to roll over before she buried her head against his chest and started crying. He held her without speaking, stroking her hair and letting her cry herself out, until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep in his arms.

* * *

><p>Severus lay silently and stared over Hermione's head at the wall, feeling the absolute helpless fury pulsing through him in time to his heartbeat. There was nothing he could do, either to save Potter's life or to try and ease his lover's pain. If there was a way, he'd do it, no matter how high the price, but there simply wasn't anything he could do, and he hated that most of all. He regretted even telling her, but if he hadn't then he knew himself well enough to know that by now he would have lashed out and hurt her badly out of his own frustrated pain; besides, he never wanted to lie to her about anything important.<p>

Suppressing a sigh, he looked down at the young woman sleeping huddled against his chest, gently brushing her impossible hair back from her tear-stained face. _I'm sorry, love. I tried. _He just wished there was something he could do to make it easier for her, he mused a little sadly as he carefully untangled a stubborn curl from where it had caught on her ring, lightly tracing a fingertip over the gems. It wasn't much, really, but it was all he had to offer; he'd never really been good at declarations of love anyway. Leaning in, he kissed her forehead lightly and settled down, trying to clear his mind enough to sleep.

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up with a pounding headache and the knowledge that she hadn't had anywhere near enough sleep; that was becoming progressively more normal now. She couldn't understand how Severus had coped with his increasing stress for the better part of two years; a little over two <em>weeks <em>had almost finished her off, and she wasn't on her own. She wasn't sure what had woken her this time; her lover was still asleep and didn't seem to be having a nightmare, and the house was quiet.

Lying quietly in the darkness, she considered the dream she had been having – nothing earth-shattering; she'd been remembering the day Severus had removed his Dark Mark. Why was she thinking about that now? Frowning slightly, she realised her hand was resting over the scar inside his left arm, and bit her lip. Something told her that it was important, but her head was buzzing with fatigue and stress and she couldn't quite work out why. Wait... how had he done it? He'd untangled his magic from the magic of the Mark; it had taken over an hour and a lot of power, and he hadn't said how he'd done it, but he had, so obviously it was possible. Could he perhaps untangle the Horcrux from Harry in the same way? It would obviously be difficult, but he was fairly familiar with Harry now, and very familiar with Voldemort. If souls had some sort of anchor in the physical plane – which presumably they did, if Horcruxes could be bound into physical objects – then theoretically it had to be possible.

Pushing her sudden excitement away, she settled deeper into the bed and made herself think it through carefully. _If _it was possible, fine – then what? They still needed a way to remove or destroy the Horcrux once it wasn't tangled up in Harry so much. _Think, damnit. _Conventional thinking hadn't provided an answer, so it was time for unconventional thinking. Maybe they had been looking at things the wrong way. The scar wasn't a normal Horcrux, so instead of thinking of ways to destroy any soul fragment, what about ways to destroy Voldemort's soul specifically? What was he vulnerable to?

_Oh, what's the use. _If they knew that, this would have been over much more quickly.

Abruptly she froze, not even breathing in case she disturbed the tiny fragile seeds of an idea that were beginning to form. God... could it really be that simple? No wonder they'd missed it. Very slowly, she exhaled, staring into the darkness with wide eyes and biting her lip furiously. It sounded stupid, even just inside her head, but all the evidence was there. It had worked before. If there was a way to enhance that previous effect, make it stronger, there was no reason why it shouldn't work again, stupid or not...

"Severus," she hissed after a few minutes, unable to wait any longer. "Severus, wake up."

Hermione felt a little guilty about disturbing him; he'd been working so hard recently, trying desperately to find a solution and battling to stay as optimistic as he was capable of for her sake as well as keeping the boys distracted. That combined with his natural occasional insomnia meant he'd had less sleep than she had. But this was important, if she was right.

"_Severus,_" she hissed insistently, gently nudging him with her elbow. Finally she got a sleepy grunt of complaint that didn't even sound human. "Are you awake?"

"No," he mumbled fuzzily.

"This is important! Wake up."

He groaned faintly. "All right, all right, I'm awake," he growled finally in a gravelly, rough voice, sounding absolutely shattered. "What?"

"I've had an idea. Well, two separate ideas. Firstly, do you think you'd be able to separate the Horcrux from Harry the same way you separated your magic from your Dark Mark?" Not giving him a chance to respond, she carried on talking excitedly, twisting around to face him. "Because I think if we can untangle them, then Harry will be able to destroy the Horcrux himself. You-Know-Who can't possess him, remember, not for long – something about Harry hurts him, means he can't stay in his head. Dumbledore said so. Okay, he said it was because of the power of love, or something else that sounds really daft, but whatever it is, _something _means You-Know-Who can't take Harry over, so logically once the Horcrux is untied from him..."

Severus opened bloodshot eyes and reached out to put his hand over her mouth. "You're babbling. Shut up for a minute. Breathe, then talk," he ordered sleepily.

Obediently she stopped talking, sitting up and shamelessly stealing the blanket to wrap around herself as she gathered her thoughts before repeating herself slightly more coherently. Shivering, Severus reclaimed part of the bedding with a glare before sitting up in turn to listen, frowning slightly before his expression turned completely blank. "Hermione..." he said slowly.

"I know," she interrupted. "I'm a bit more romantic than you are, but that's not exactly saying a lot. I know how stupid it sounds to say love's going to save Harry. I thought it was stupid when he first told me about Dumbledore's theory. But there's proof of this, Severus. It's happened before. You-Know-Who could only possess him for a few minutes, and it hurt him to do it. And this Horcrux is the last one, it's the weakest. It's got to be worth a try, hasn't it? Even if it doesn't work, we haven't lost anything. If you can untangle it, even a bit, that's going to help."

He didn't answer, rubbing his eyes wearily and scratching his stubbled jaw as he woke up a bit more. Obviously he didn't think this was going to work, but Hermione wanted to be sure he had a reason beyond cynicism; if there was an actual reason why it wouldn't work, fair enough, but she wasn't going to let him dismiss it until he'd really thought about it. This was the closest thing to a breakthrough they'd had, and she watched his face anxiously, noting the dark shadows under his eyes a bit guiltily – this probably could have waited another couple of hours.

Very slowly his expression changed, his gaze sharpening as his focus shifted elsewhere. Recognising his lost in thought expression, Hermione held her breath as he frowned pensively; when he absently traced a fingertip along his lips she started to smile. That meant he'd thought of something and was working through it. He murmured slowly to himself, "Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame..."

"What?"

"Hmm? Oh, something Dumbledore said once..." he replied absently, not really paying attention now as he focused more sharply on whatever he was thinking about. Abruptly twisting around, he held out a hand and wandlessly and non-verbally Summoned pen and paper to him, leaning back against the wall and hunching over it as he started to scribble furiously, and she watched him anxiously and attempted unsuccessfully to read his spidery scrawl upside down, barely daring to hope.

* * *

><p>What seemed like several hours later, she was ready to kill him with her bare hands. He'd stopped responding to anything she said ages ago, completely caught up in whatever the hell he was doing; reading his notes gave her no clues at all because it looked like the ramblings of a madman, nonsensical scribbles and bits of what looked like equations and the odd random word scribbled in a margin that didn't seem to go with anything else he'd written. Half a dozen pages of dense notes had to be a good sign, though, surely, she told herself hopefully.<p>

Finally Severus seemed to switch off, dropping his pen and staring down at his notes for a few minutes before blinking and gradually coming back to the real world. Slowly he looked up, and his dark eyes were glittering with an inner light she hadn't seen in weeks.

Almost afraid to breathe, Hermione asked tentatively, "Well?"

He held up a hand warningly. "This isn't guaranteed, Hermione. You need to understand that. I think there is a _chance _of this working but I can't promise anything. I may not be able to do anything to separate the Horcrux in the first place, for a start; it might be too tangled for that. Even if I can, it might not make any difference. The theory is sound, but nothing like this has ever been done before and I'm going to be making it up as I go along. I _think, _if we take certain steps, it _might _work. That's as far as I am willing to go; I don't want to give you false hope. Frankly the odds are high that it's going to be a waste of time, but there might be a way. I'll need to examine Potter to decide if it's even worth trying."

She nearly collapsed in sheer relief. "But you think it's possible?"

Severus scratched his jaw and looked down at his notes. "Perhaps," he said guardedly. "If I can find out how to separate the Horcrux from him, even a little, then there are steps we can take to enhance whatever it is in him, to strengthen his grip on who he is... It's hard to explain. As I said, I'm going to be making it up as I go along."

"What can I do? Can I even do anything?"

Somewhat to her surprise, he nodded. "I'll need you there. And Weasley, I think. For a variety of potential reasons, but I think it likely I may need some strength from you before the end. This is going to be very difficult."

"And dangerous?"

"I won't know until I try it. It shouldn't be," he said reassuringly. "I wish I could be more certain, but nothing like this has ever been done before, and I refuse to promise anything I may not be able to deliver."

Ignoring this, Hermione flung herself at him and hugged him fiercely, hearing his slightly startled laugh before he hugged her back. "You brilliant, wonderful man. Thank you. God, thank you."

"Thank me when it's done."

* * *

><p>Hermione's relief and happiness had lasted about fifteen minutes, which was how long it had taken her to realise that now she was going to have to tell Harry what was really going on. He wasn't going to be pleased. Still, it was hard to worry; she knew Severus was right, this wasn't necessarily a solution and it might not work, but she had faith in him and he wouldn't have said even that much if he didn't think he could do something. She was trying not to get her hopes up, but the past few weeks had been hell, and now there was light at the end of the tunnel – it was almost over, and then she had the rest of her life to look forward to. <em>With Severus, <em>she reminded herself happily, padding out onto the landing to listen and see if the boys were awake yet. Given that she could hear Ron snoring through the door, they probably weren't.

About to head downstairs and see what there was for breakfast, she paused and turned to look at the bathroom door, biting her lip and trying not to grin as she argued with herself and listened to the running water. Giving in to temptation, she opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind her; Severus had lived alone long enough that he usually forgot to lock the door, and this morning proved no exception. He was still in the shower, which due to the size of the bathroom was mounted on the wall over the bath; turning and raising an eyebrow inquiringly, he smiled at her, the genuine unguarded smile that was still quite rare.

"Yes?" he asked mildly, his eyes glittering with something much less innocent than the rest of his expression. "Did you want something?"

Hermione had genuinely intended to actually talk to him and ask for a few more details about what they were going to be doing, but at the same time she had to acknowledge she'd been lying to herself, as something in the way he was standing managed to effectively derail her train of thought and she found herself watching soapy water sliding over his skin instead.

"Distracting me is cheating," she murmured, following some of the soap with her eyes as it trickled from his neck through the dark hair on his chest and down over his ribs and his flat stomach, past his rising erection and down his thigh, before lifting her gaze to meet his eyes again. He looked amused, and a little smug, but behind the smirk was a little spark of genuine pleasure; he liked knowing that she enjoyed looking at him and that she found him attractive. In turn, she liked seeing his insecurity, knowing that he was trusting her enough to let her see it and knowing that she was helping him get past it. She also quite liked knowing that she was hopefully going to have him to play with for the rest of their lives.

She still felt a little self-conscious about undressing in front of him, but it was certainly easier when he was already naked and she could see his entire body reacting to what he was seeing. Between the extremely enjoyable sight of him waiting for her in the shower and the wild surge of emotion as her fear and depression lifted, though, she didn't feel shy any more and could hardly strip quickly enough, letting the last of her clothes fall to the floor and eagerly moving to step into the tub and under the warm water as he drew her close against him.

There wasn't really enough room for two people, but neither of them had any objection to being pressed closely together as they began to wash each other. "You're tense," Severus murmured after a few minutes, running his hand down her back.

"Can you blame me?" she asked, leaning against him. "Twenty minutes ago I thought my best friend was going to die. I've been going mad for days. So have you."

"True, but I am far more used to feeling absolutely hopeless than you are." He nudged her with his hip. "Turn around." She obeyed, and his hands slid into her hair, carefully working a small measure of her shampoo through the thick curls to her scalp with just the right amount of pressure, and she all but melted against him.

By the time her hair was thoroughly rinsed, his clever fingers had kneaded away all the little knots of tension from her scalp down her neck and through her shoulders, and Hermione was very nearly purring; he was _good _at this. He stepped closer, his hands sliding down her arms to her waist and drawing her back against him, and she felt his erection pressing against her; his breath was warm on her skin as he began to kiss her neck, his hands skimming lightly over her stomach and ribs to cup her breasts from behind. Leaning her head back against his shoulder, she closed her eyes against the warm water and gave herself over to the sensations as the last of the exhaustion and stress of the past couple of weeks dissolved.

Finally she turned in the circle of his arms, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his wet hair and moulding her body against his as they kissed, gently at first but with rapidly building eagerness. She steadied herself by gripping his shoulders as he lifted her up, apparently without effort, wrapping her legs around his hips as he leaned forward slightly and pushed her against the wall, gasping into his mouth; the tiles were cold. He swallowed the sound, exploring her mouth more deeply as he shifted his legs a little further apart to steady them both, bracing her weight, and she reached between them to curl her fingers around him and help to guide him inside her. It took a moment to find the right angle, before she sank onto him and sighed in sheer bliss at the feeling, echoed by his soft groan of pleasure.

Sliding her arms around his neck, she stared into his eyes as they moved together, the eye contact growing more intense. It took her a little while to gather enough breath to speak coherently; it was almost impossible to think while they were doing this. "Severus... thank you. For everything. Without you... God, without you, we'd all have died years ago." She blinked tears out of her eyes and smiled at him a little shakily. "I love you so much."

His eyes were soft and warm as he returned her smile. "Foolish girl," he murmured, leaning in briefly to kiss her before drawing back to meet her eyes again. "More than anyone, you never need to thank me for anything. It's I who should be thanking you. You gave me a reason to keep going. You made me want to live. You've given me hope, for the first time in more years than I want to think about, hope of a future I never thought I would have. No, Hermione, you never need to thank me."

Realising how Gryffindorishly sentimental this was getting, Hermione grinned at him in sudden mischief. "That was very nicely done, Severus, but I am going to make you say it back one day."

It made him laugh, as he responded to her changed mood; he leaned in to kiss her again and began moving more forcefully. Leaning her head back against the tiles as he nipped at her neck, she smiled and closed her eyes as her pleasure built, gasping and shivering before crying out softly as her legs tightened around his waist. A moment later he shuddered, moaning her name against her throat and joining his voice to hers as they came almost simultaneously.

* * *

><p><em>As you can probably tell, the next couple of chapters are going to be pretty fun.<br>_


	52. Chapter 52

_Would you look at that? Five thousand reviews! I never dreamed I'd reach this point, you know. Congratulations to_ _**Explopyro **and many, many thanks to everyone who's reviewed. You'll never know what it means to me.__  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>Scars are souvenirs you never lose, the past is never far.<br>And did you lose yourself way out there? Did you get to be a star?**"**  
>– Goo Goo Dolls, 'Name'.<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione had planned to tell Harry more or less as soon as she saw him that morning, just to get it over with so they could move on, but as the four of them settled to breakfast she realised she hadn't got the faintest idea how to broach the subject. '<em>Hi, Harry, did you know those weird shared dreams were because you've got a piece of soul inside you belonging to the most evil scum we've ever known and that's probably why you're quite good at magic<em>'? Focusing on her food to stall for time, she tried to think of how best to phrase it, absently biting her lip between mouthfuls.

Almost inevitably, Severus came to the rescue again, sitting back as he drained the last of his coffee and saying nonchalantly, "Potter."

"Yes?" Harry asked, slightly warily.

"We've been making progress and we think we may have a possible solution. If you've finished eating, I need to use Legilimency briefly to see if it will work or not; then we'll tell you what's going to happen."

The boys stared at him, startled, before Harry frowned. "Do you have to? I hate Legilimency."

"No, I'm suggesting it for my own amusement, because exploring your teenage angst was so entertaining last time that I miss it," Severus told him dryly, and Hermione smiled a little as she watched them. This was her lover's version of a good mood, after all.

"Is it going to take long? It hurts, you know."

"It won't hurt," Severus said impatiently.

"It did before." Harry glared at him. "So you _were_ deliberately trying to hurt me last time. I knew it."

"No, I wasn't. Equally, though, I wasn't trying _not _to hurt you," Severus admitted casually. "Don't fight me and you'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say."

He sighed. "Potter, how many times do you imagine that I have been on the receiving end of Legilimency from the Dark Lord? Believe me, he was far less gentle than I am. This won't take long and I won't be looking at any memories except the one of your being possessed in the Department of Mysteries. Stay calm, focus on that memory and don't try to struggle, and it won't hurt. This isn't a negotiation. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you; we can do this by force if you'd prefer."

"Hermione," Harry whined, appealing to a higher authority. Trying not to smile despite her anxiety, she shook her head at him.

"This is important, Harry. It'll let us know if our idea is going to work. Please just do it."

He surrendered with bad grace and almost grudgingly turned to face Severus, opening his eyes wide and remaining motionless. There wasn't really much to see from a spectator's point of view; the only sign anything was happening was Harry's pupils dilating and the familiar little crease of concentration appearing between Severus' brows. After a couple of minutes Severus blinked slowly and looked away as Harry exhaled heavily and reached up gingerly to touch his scar, apparently out of reflex, and Hermione watched her lover anxiously for a response.

He looked at her with a pensive expression, shrugged slightly and offered her his crooked half-smile. "It's worth trying."

Relieved, she breathed out shakily and smiled at him. "Good."

"Okay, lovely. Can someone tell us what's going on now?" Ron asked plaintively.

Hermione sighed, licking her lips uneasily. "Sit down, Harry. Okay. You're not going to like this, but hear me out, please?" Taking a deep breath, she resisted the urge to look at Severus; she owed it to her friend to tell him herself. "Dumbledore told Severus in the memories he left for him that the reason your scar links you to You-Know-Who, the reason he affects you so much... his soul split again, the night your parents were killed. When the Killing Curse rebounded. It made a seventh Horcrux, an accidental one, that anchored itself to the closest magical object. You."

A thick silence followed her words. Ron had gone pale enough for his freckles to stand out; just as she had when she had first heard, he'd obviously realised that this fit every odd thing they'd ever noticed or heard about, fit so well that it had to be the truth. He looked absolutely horrified.

Harry just looked blank, before scowling. "That's not funny, 'Mione."

"No, it's not," she agreed softly.

"Come on, seriously, what's going on?"

Suppressing another sigh, she looked at him steadily and said nothing, watching his emotions playing across his face as he went from irritation to shocked realisation to stark frozen numbness in the space of about thirty seconds. The silence dragged out as everyone else stared at him apprehensively; even Severus had dropped his pose of casual indifference and leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing a little.

Finally Harry spoke again in a rather strained and distant voice; Hermione wondered briefly if she'd sounded like that when Severus had told her. "...You're saying I'm – that I'm a... a Horcrux."

Not sure how to respond, she settled for nodding uneasily; she really didn't like the look starting to creep over his face. "Yes."

Harry took a deep breath. "And you didn't _tell _me?"

"Harry, you know why I didn't. You said you trusted me. Now we think we've found out how to deal with it, I've told you. Telling you before now wouldn't have achieved anything..."

"I trusted you because I assumed that if it was something really serious, you'd have told me! Guess I was wrong about that, huh?"

Trying to stay calm, she replied quietly, "Look, Harry, you've had a bad shock. It's a pretty horrible thing to learn. But it's going to be okay –"

"_Don't patronise me!_" His eyes were blazing with rage. "You're no better than Dumbledore! And at least he kept things from me for my sake. I think you just like being in charge now, bossing us all around, just because Snape's started trailing after you like a puppy!"

Even just a few short months ago, she probably would have fled in tears at this point, Hermione reflected quietly as her best friend snarled at her. She certainly felt like crying. But at the same time, she was thinking that over the past couple of weeks she and Severus had been working themselves into the ground to try and find a way out of this mess; she'd cried herself to sleep in his arms more than once, and when they were alone and he dropped his shields she'd seen how much of a toll it was taking on him, and she was on her feet before she knew it.

"How _dare _you, Harry Potter! When have I _ever _kept anything secret from you? It's been six years, I'd think you could trust me enough by now to believe that I had a good reason! And don't you _ever _compare me to Dumbledore," she spat. "He kept things from you to keep you close, to make sure you only trusted him. I was trying to _help _you, damnit!"

"Oh yeah, it's been a great help not telling me I've got a psychopath's soul in my brain! You don't think that's the sort of thing I needed to know?" he yelled back, as Ron prudently slid down and sideways in his chair to keep well out of the way.

"Not until we worked out how to fix it, no! All it would have done is made you miserable, just like I have been, and Severus!"

"Sure," Harry laughed hollowly. "I bet he's been up all night fretting about me. Because we're great mates, him and me. Except for the part where he can't stand me! My mum –"

"Finish that sentence and I will remove your tongue by the roots," Severus said quietly, his first contribution to the conversation. His voice was very cold, but Hermione didn't turn to look at him; with the reference, her temper had snapped completely, and the surge of wandless magic knocked Harry clean out of his chair as she felt the static crackle through her hair.

"Shut up, Harry! Just shut up!"

Whirling around, she nearly ran smack into Severus, who was standing right in front of the door with his arms folded across his chest. "Let me past, please," she gritted.

"No."

Hermione looked up at him; he returned her gaze steadily and calmly. "Let me past, please," she repeated stiffly, trying to cling to what remained of her temper before she really did start crying.

He shook his head. "No, Hermione. You two are going to sort this out now. It will only get worse if you don't. And Potter, if your hand moves one inch closer to your wand, you are going to regret it," he added without looking away from her. "You're both going to fix this before it gets out of hand, if I have to lock you both in here for the rest of the day and personally Disarm you both."

"It's got nothing to do with you," Harry muttered, more sullen than infuriated now; he seemed slightly shocked as he picked himself up. Ron had retreated right across the room by this point and was leaning against the door leading to the cellar, trying to look unobtrusive.

"You live in my house, and I've seen the damage you lot can cause when you fall out," Severus told him crisply. "Sit down and hold your tongue before you do something you'll regret. Do I have to remind you that you refused to speak to Hermione for half a_ year _just because she wanted to make sure your mysterious new broom wasn't going to kill you? Even I thought that was too harsh, and as you might imagine I couldn't have cared less about your squabbles in those days."

The reminder was possibly one of the only things that could have calmed Harry down; Hermione knew he was genuinely ashamed of that. He slunk back to his chair without further comment, and Severus turned his attention back to her. "Sit down, please, Hermione." The words were a request, and she knew that if she really tried to push past him he wouldn't try to stop her, but his tone indicated that he wasn't going to let this drop. "Something like this needs to be fixed immediately, or it won't be fixed at all."

Harry lifted his head and stared at him, looking thoughtful as a bit more anger faded. "You're speaking from experience," he guessed.

"Yes."

"That's what you did to my mum? Wouldn't fix it?" he asked tentatively, as Hermione reluctantly resumed her own seat across the table from him.

After a short pause Severus shook his head. "No. It's what she did to me," he replied quietly.

She had wondered for a long time what had happened after his fight with Lily, whether he'd been young enough not to let his pride get in the way, whether he'd tried to make things right. Apparently he had, but it obviously hadn't been enough. Pushing back her anger, Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry; she couldn't really blame him for being upset.

"Maybe I should have told you before, but what would it have achieved?" she asked him. "I know you hate being kept in the dark. So do I, and I didn't want to do it to you. But you've been so much happier recently, Harry. I didn't want to take that away from you, and if I'd told you about this before, you'd have given up. You'd have decided that you were doomed and you'd have been miserable. I wanted to wait until we knew if there was a way of fixing it or not."

"And is there?" Ron asked swiftly.

"We're not sure, but there could be. I hope so." Hermione shrugged helplessly and looked at Severus.

He nodded. "Understand, Potter, this is a unique situation. I believe I may be able to at least partially separate the Horcrux from you, magically and metaphysically, and then take certain steps to amplify whatever it is in you that prevents the Dark Lord from possessing you. With luck, that will then destroy the Horcrux from within, or if not I will have worked with it enough to have an idea of whether it is possible to remove it or not."

He paused to give Harry a moment to take this in, then added more sharply, "Now, isn't this more pleasant than being informed that you are doomed? You are right that I dislike you, but that doesn't mean I want you dead. This has not been an easy time for anyone."

Harry nodded slowly; he obviously wasn't happy still, but he looked calmer. "No, I know. I'm sorry." He glanced across the table. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Me, too. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed with a small smile, before turning to look back at Severus with a hopeful expression. "When can we do this? I – now I know what's going on, I want it out of me as soon as possible."

"Quite understandable," Severus replied dryly. He glanced at his watch. "This afternoon we'll need to make a trip to pick something up. I don't intend trying this until tomorrow, though – I want a little time to prepare and make sure I have planned as much as possible. Hermione only thought of this a few hours ago."

"Where are we going, and what do we need to get?"

He smirked. "It's a surprise. And it's likely to be very surprising for everyone, actually."

Harry looked back at Hermione. "He really gets a kick out of being cryptic, doesn't he?"

"It's like a drug to Slytherins," she agreed. "I don't know what he's on about either, before you ask."

Severus leaned back in his chair and looked at his watch again. "How would the pair of you like to bugger off to annoy the Order for a few hours?"

"Any particular reason?" Ron asked.

"Because it's irritating having you in my house all the time. Go on, sod off, both of you. Be back after lunch."

"Okay."

Hermione grinned. "Has anyone actually asked you why I never visit?"

"A couple of people, yeah," Harry replied, grinning back at her. "We just shrugged and told them Professor Snape has a lot of books you've never read before and that we expect to see you surface sometime next year. Nobody's questioned it any further."

* * *

><p>After they had gone, Severus stood and stretched before turning and raising an eyebrow. "Don't pout at me, Hermione. You were in the wrong this time, although I'm certainly never going to say that to him."<p>

"Severus," she protested tiredly.

"No, you were. It's not that long since you last tore a strip off me for doing the exact same thing, now is it?" he asked.

"You agreed with me at the time."

He nodded. "There was no right choice in this instance, as there wasn't a right choice when I've done it to you before. It's one of the worst dilemmas in existence. For once, he was entitled to be a little angry. That doesn't mean I was going to let him throw a tantrum that could turn into a grudge. I know how much it hurt you when you fell out with them before."

"And you didn't want to see history repeat itself?" she guessed softly, standing and moving closer.

"Oh, it would never have been that bad. The two of you care for one another too much for that," Severus replied quietly.

That raised all sorts of interesting implications, but she could see from the look in his eyes that he didn't want to talk about it. "I suppose I ought to thank you for making us sort things out, anyway," she muttered rather ungraciously, still feeling a little irritated – mostly because she knew he was right.

His quick smile set his black eyes glittering. "I was very tempted not to. Not only is it always vastly entertaining to see you dump Potter on his arse, which is something I haven't seen in a long time... that's the first time I've seen you use magic in anger," he noted; his voice had deepened half an octave and taken on a soft and very familiar growl. "You were... magnificent."

She raised her eyebrows, trying to hold back a smile. "Oh?"

"Definitely." He reached out to touch her face, sliding his fingers into her hair, which she could feel was still crackling with static, and moved closer.

No longer able to keep the smile off her face, she grinned at him, reaching down to lightly brush the back of her hand along the swell of his erection straining at his jeans. "So you just kicked Harry and Ron out because you like me when I'm angry and wanted some privacy? That's a little perverse, you know."

"Yes," he agreed nonchalantly as his fingertips trailed across the nape of her neck, proving that he knew exactly how to make her shiver.

"Fair enough, then. Shall we?"

"We shall."

* * *

><p>"I still say you're slightly perverse," she murmured lazily, idly tracing random patterns over his sweaty chest. "Most men are scared of angry women, you know."<p>

"I am not most men," he pointed out, sounding rather justifiably smug. As well he should, she supposed, thinking back over the past couple of hours.

"Have you been planning to have me on the kitchen table for a while?" she asked archly, and he chuckled softly.

"Not specifically, no, but I wasn't in the mood to wait."

"I noticed. You weren't in the mood to waste time removing clothing, either, apparently," she replied, privately heartily approving. Much as she loved their usual extended lovemaking, there was a lot to recommend a quickie every now and then. It seemed that he really did like her angry. "I think you ripped my shirt," she added. "Bastard."

"Mm."

"At least we remembered to clean the table before relocating up here, I suppose."

"It's my house. If I want to enjoy good sex somewhere other than my bed, I shall do so."

Hermione grinned at his lofty tone and snuggled closer. "You've been making a point of asserting that this is _your _house recently..."

"Because it is. I certainly wouldn't dream of asking you to lay claim to as much as a brick of this shithole." His fingers wound gently into her hair, teasing out a few of the many tangles. "Once all this is done, we shall find somewhere that will be _our _house."

"Mm. I thought that's what you were getting at, but it's nice to be sure. We still need to work on your communication skills," she told him, running a fingertip along one of the scars on his chest.

"Hmph. If you insist." Severus shifted a little further onto his side and slid his arm around her, nuzzling his face into her hair. "I may not have _said _anything, but I have in fact been thinking about the future, you know."

She settled contentedly into his embrace and closed her eyes. "Go on..."

"Well, you're aware of what will happen once word begins to spread, even just within the Order."

"Yes, I know. You're a paedophile, I'm a slut desperate for better grades, or maybe I've just been Imperiused and you're a rapist. Maybe you'll get lucky and someone will have read _Lolita _and decide that you're just a rather ill old man seduced by my obvious skills at manipulation. And obviously it's probably going to be because you hate Harry."

He laughed softly. "Yes, that sounds about right. Do you still have a hold over Rita Skeeter? I know you were blackmailing her, although I never did find out how."

"She's an unregistered beetle Animagus. As far as I know, she's still unregistered, which means yes, I can stop her writing anything about us."

"Is she really? That makes a great deal of sense, actually. Good; she irritates me. It's not going to stop other reporters, but she actively dislikes you, so it's best to head off that particular poison. I don't think I'm going to face any legal action, since a simple examination will show you aren't being magically coerced and I will pay a lot of money to see anyone try to convince you to press charges, but a lot of people are going to be asking a lot of unpleasant questions."

Hermione nodded against his chest. "They're going to look a bit stupid when they do, though. Poppy's already told me she can confirm I was still a virgin at the beginning of the summer term. Maybe someone can make something of the fact that I can't prove anything after May, but I didn't take any exams during that time or anything, and I was over seventeen." She paused. "What do the school rules say about relationships between staff and students?"

Severus started playing with her hair again. "It's forbidden, naturally, but so what? I've already terminated my employment. I have no intention of ever returning to teaching under any circumstances and I don't anticipate being in need of a reference from Hogwarts at any point. If they want to think we were together for what, a month before the end of term – although when we were supposed to have found the time, I have no idea – then I'm not going to bother trying too hard to convince them otherwise. It's not going to affect your education, if that's what you're worried about."

"Are you sure?"

"It's never the student's fault in such cases – and it has happened before."

She interrupted him with a grin. "You looked it up? When?"

He pointedly ignored the question. "In any case, you're Hermione Granger. They wouldn't dare so much as hint that you couldn't take your NEWTs, no matter what you had supposedly done. There would be rumours and gossip if it came out while you were still at Hogwarts, but that's hardly a new experience for you, and it wouldn't be for long. Poppy would still be on your side, and Minerva would support you publicly even if she disapproved, and most of your other teachers would be more than happy to blame me."

Reassured by this, she relaxed against his side, before frowning and twisting to look up at him again. "'_If' _it comes out while I'm still at Hogwarts? You want to keep it a secret?"

Severus paused for a moment, then shifted slightly more onto his side to face her, his dark eyes intent. "For now, yes – for your sake, not mine. As I said, I have been thinking about the future, for possibly the first time in my life; let me explain what I think should happen, and see whether you agree or not. Let's assume that we kill the Dark Lord and that the war ends. There will be a period of chaos and cleaning up, and everyone will try to get things back to normal as quickly as possible so we can all go back to pretending that it didn't really happen. You'll be returning to Hogwarts to take your NEWTs; as I've said before, I don't think you'll need more than a term to prepare, but it doesn't matter if you want to take longer or if other staff think you should. Now, I will _not_ be returning to Hogwarts. I don't care if they beg me. I've always hated teaching and I have too many bad memories, and under the circumstances I don't think it's a good idea."

"So what does that mean for... us?" she asked, feeling sick as she searched his expression anxiously. He looked serious and intent but he didn't seem to be steeling himself or to be upset, and she tried to relax.

"I think that it would be best if we had a long engagement," he said slowly, "until you've graduated. That doesn't mean we won't see one another; I don't think either of us are patient enough for that," he added, smirking slightly. "I know I'm not. You'll have weekends free, at least, and even you won't need all your free time for study. Besides, it would probably be for the best for us to have a little time apart occasionally; I imagine we will both have a few post-war problems to work through, and whilst I cannot speak for you, I will do better at that or at least cause less damage to others if I am by myself. During that time, I will sell this house – I never want to live here again – and start long term planning. I don't know what career path you want to take, but it doesn't matter, because I'm more than happy to work around it."

"Severus..."

"Must you constantly keep interrupting?" he asked mildly. "I haven't finished yet."

"You've spent your whole life doing what other people want. I won't be part of that."

"Then be quiet and listen, foolish girl," he told her dryly with a kind of exasperated affection in his voice. "I wasn't suggesting any such thing. I want to go into private Potions brewing and research and set up my own mail-order service to fund my personal experiments. I can do that from anywhere in the world, in any kind of home, at least to some extent. I don't give a toss where we live or what you do for a living, so I can work around whatever you eventually decide your future should be. At the moment I have no money whatsoever, it's true, but a private potioneer with my qualifications and a certain indifference to the law earns more than enough to keep us both very comfortably regardless of your own earnings."

He stretched lazily and gave her an amused look. "Now, assuming that you haven't got fed up with me and remembered what a bastard I am by the time you graduate, and assuming that we both survive the post-traumatic stress with our sanity intact, that would be a good time to consider marriage. I should state right now that I don't really care what form a wedding will take, but if you want a huge load of fuss then please organise it without me. I'm completely indifferent to all the trimmings. I like the Muggle ceremony more than the wizarding one but not enough to object to either; I would like some say in the guest list but there's nobody I particularly want there. That can all wait until nearer the time, in any case."

"And what makes that 'a good time' to consider it?" she asked, more amused at his attitude than anything else; he really had put a great deal of thought into things, and she couldn't help wondering when he'd found the time to think about it so carefully, given everything else he'd had to think about recently.

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Because whatever ceremony we undergo, our wedding will still have to be registered in the wizarding world for legal reasons, and the moment a marriage licence appears with both our names on it all Hell is going to break loose. Possibly literally. I plan to drag you off for a _very_ long honeymoon somewhere where we can hide until everything dies down, so it would make sense to do so before either of us embark on a long-term career. That's the only reason."

Hermione thought about this. "Fair enough. Then what?"

He grinned and lay back. "Whatever we like. Isn't that how things are generally supposed to work?"

"You make it all sound so simple..."

"It is simple. That's not the same as easy, mind you, but it is simple enough."

"There's still so much to sort out."

"And we'll have plenty of time to do so."

She bit her lip and hesitated. "And what of the future, long-term?" she asked carefully. "I... I need to be honest here. I – I don't want children. I never have and despite what everyone keeps telling me, I don't think I ever will..."

He gave her an incredulous look. "And you really think I do?" he asked. "Leaving aside the fact that I am certain I would be a truly terrible father, it can't have escaped your notice that I don't _like _children. At all. People tell me it's different when they're your own, but the only difference I can see is that you can't get away from them."

That made her smile. "I'm inclined to agree, but accidents do happen. You told me you were safe, and we've been careful, but..."

"I wasn't really capable of a proper explanation at the time," he noted dryly, smirking at her as she smiled ruefully at him in response; in the middle of their first time probably hadn't been the best moment to raise the subject, in hindsight. "But I am completely safe. I'm infertile, and as far as I can tell I always have been."

Hermione blinked and stared at him, caught somewhere between surprise and relief. "Why didn't I know that already?"

"Why would you?" he asked. "It's not on record, because my sexual health was hardly anyone's priority – including mine. I doubt Poppy even remembers, to be honest. It is probably treatable, but I've never bothered to find out."

"Well, that solves that problem, at least." She settled against him once more and rested her head on his chest. "I think your plan sounds pretty damned wonderful, actually, if we can pull it off."

"So glad you approve." He stretched lazily and exhaled heavily. "Pleasant though this is, we do have work to do this afternoon." Shifting, he slapped her arse playfully. "Get off me, woman."

"You bastard," she protested, laughing as she sat up.

He chuckled softly and sat up in turn, pushing his hair back from his face and starting to Summon his scattered clothing. "I think it's just as well I'm not going back to Hogwarts," he noted dryly. "Imagine what I would have to do to any student who spoke to me like that."

Hermione grinned mischievously at him. "Put me in detention, perhaps?" she asked archly, and started to giggle at the look on his face. "You've thought about that before, then?" _I know I have..._

"...No comment," he said after a moment, avoiding her eyes with a slightly sheepish-looking smirk; he looked almost on the verge of blushing.

"So many wasted opportunities," she teased impishly, finding and wriggling into her knickers and standing up to get her jeans back on.

"Not that many. Even I couldn't get away with giving the Princess of Gryffindor many detentions," he pointed out, doing up his belt and picking up his shirt. "Still, I have to admit the thought had crossed my mind once or twice. Not that I would have done anything even if you had ended up in detention... but it was a nice thought nonetheless. Especially around three in the morning, I recall..."

"I still can't believe I didn't know anything about it. I mean, I probably saw you more often than almost anyone else did, and we were alone together quite often."

He gave her a faintly disgusted look, his eyes gleaming mockingly as he raked his fingers through his hair. "You do remember what the word _Occlumens _means, don't you? Despite what everyone thinks, I do have a professional code of ethics, and attempting to initiate anything inappropriate with a student most definitely violates that code. In any case, since I did not know you felt anything for me beyond initial dislike that faded into pity and then into a very peculiar sort of friendship, I would hardly have risked humiliating myself."

"And I thought you were good at reading people," she replied mockingly, twisting to do up her bra before pulling her shirt on over her head. "When did it start, though? You said fifth year was when your Patronus stopped being the doe..."

Severus rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes drifting out of focus. "I noticed my Patronus had stopped working towards the end of the summer term, but I didn't often use the charm so it was certainly some time before that. I really don't know for certain, but I know I became aware that something had changed during those Occlumency lessons. I imagine it started before that, though." Apparently not happy with this conversation, he arched an eyebrow at her and changed the subject. "And when did it start with you?"

"Um. I'm not really sure. It happened so gradually and I had so many other things on my mind that I didn't really notice. Definitely by the start of sixth year, because Professor Slughorn showed us Amortentia in our first Potions lesson and it smelled a bit like you, although I didn't recognise it at the time. I didn't actually work out what was going on until sometime after Christmas, but I remember being very confused about you long before that. Hence the party dress, although I admit Cormac was to annoy Ron. I was pretty confused about him, too, because I'd spent some time liking him." And it hadn't been until Harry had brought the subject up that she'd realised she didn't know why, although she didn't intend to tell Severus that Harry had been partly responsible for her working out her feelings for him. He wouldn't be impressed.

He smiled slightly. "I cleared away the potions after that particular lesson; I noticed the smell of the Amortentia too, although I already knew something of how I felt so the scent wasn't too much of a surprise. In any event, I think it's for the best that we didn't realise or act on it earlier – I was playing too many different roles already; I don't think I could have coped with trying to hide a relationship with you at the same time. And the risk if anyone had found out..."

"True," Hermione agreed as she finished getting dressed, deciding to more or less ignore her hair until she got a chance to wash it later. She stretched. "By the way, I've wondered about something for ages – why did you let me keep your textbook, once you realised I had it?"

He snorted. "I'd have thought that was obvious. I was trying to impress you."

"Really?"

"Hermione, this is you we're talking about. Any man who hoped to have a chance with you would have to show that he was intelligent before anything else," he told her dryly, "and it isn't as though I have many other impressive qualities, so I needed to play to my strengths."

She tried to scowl at him, but to be honest he was right; she was highly unlikely to look at anyone who wasn't smart, and admittedly his Potions knowledge _had _impressed her. Pointedly changing the subject, she asked, "So where are we going this afternoon?"

"You said yourself, I enjoy being cryptic," he replied, smirking.

"Git. At least tell me what we're going to fetch?"

"Something that will help destroy the Horcrux, if I manage to untangle it. I hope. I told you there were a few things I can do to try and increase the chances of it working, and this is one of them."

"I'm surprised you think this is going to work, to be honest, Severus."

He shrugged. "You said it yourself; we have proof that the Dark Lord is unable to possess Potter for more than a few moments."

"I thought about what happened to Quirrell, too, but that was because of Harry's mother dying for him, wasn't it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice gentle, although the reference seemed to leave Severus more or less unmoved.

"Partly, perhaps, but I think the emotion was more important than the source. I'm not convinced that Lily was the only one to ever choose to sacrifice herself for her child; I don't think it had much to do with her specifically." He shrugged again and moved past her to lead the way back downstairs and to the real world once more. "Something about the process of possession leaves the Dark Lord vulnerable to strong, pure emotions; when he's in his own body it wouldn't affect him. It's why he couldn't possess the boy for long; using Potter's blood when he returned to the flesh didn't protect him from that."

"Then why wasn't the Horcrux destroyed inside Harry ages ago? Why was it able to anchor to him in the first place?" Hermione was aware that it was daft to be playing Doubting Thomas to her own theory, but she wanted to be sure they'd covered everything.

"Because as a very young child his emotions weren't powerful enough, and because as he grew older he developed enough darkness to anchor the Horcrux and prevent it from being harmed by the light in him. I think. This is all rather speculative, after all."

She bit her lip absently and thought about it. "Okay, then. That makes sense. And you can use that now?"

"I think so. I won't know for sure until I try it."

She nodded. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

Meeting his dark eyes, she asked quietly, "How dangerous is this?"

"To him? It isn't. The worst case scenario is that it simply won't work, in which case we are no worse off than we were before. I won't keep trying if it's going to kill him, because it would be a lot easier to just curse him or poison him and be done with it if he'll die anyway. This is an all or nothing – it'll work or it won't. There won't be any partial results and he shouldn't be harmed."

"And how dangerous is it to you?"

Severus returned her gaze steadily. "I'm honestly not sure. It's going to take a _lot_ of power, even with you and Weasley helping me, and a great deal of concentration. It's not going to hurt me directly, I can promise you that. I am as sure as I can be without trying it that the worst that will happen is that I will be exhausted. Obviously something unexpected may happen to either of us, but as far as I am aware, it is relatively risk free."

"You could be a little more reassuring, you know."

"No, I couldn't. I'm not capable of it."

"True."

* * *

><p>"So Hermione, what exactly is going on?" Ron asked cheerfully as they recovered from the Side-Along Apparition. They looked around. Severus had brought them to an alleyway on the edge of a smart suburban estate on the outskirts of a small town; it was as blankly anonymous as the face of the moon.<p>

"That's what I want to know," Harry said in an odd voice, staring around him before glaring at Severus. "What are we doing here?"

"You know where we are?" Hermione asked him.

"We're in Little Whinging," he said tightly.

"And seldom has a place been so appropriately named," Severus said irritably. "We're here because we need to be, Potter, because I need to speak to your aunt. Come on, we've got a way to walk – this was the closest safe Apparition spot I knew. The longer we're out here, the more chance there is of someone finding us."

Harry didn't move. "Why do you need to speak to her?"

Severus gave him an annoyed look; Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. "Explain it to us, please, Severus."

He transferred the annoyed look to her before sighing. "Your aunt and your cousin are your closest blood relatives, Potter, and your only maternal relatives. I need blood from one of them, and your aunt is closer genetically."

"She won't give it to you."

"I beg to differ. Come _on._" He started walking, and the three of them hurried to catch up.

"Why blood?" Hermione asked him.

"It's always blood," he replied dryly, looking down at her. "Blood is important. Life force, and magic in some cases, and all sorts of things. It amplifies a lot of things, and it will reaffirm Potter's identity and tie him back to his mother's sacrifice. I hope."

"Isn't this house Secret-Kept or something?" Ron asked. "I mean, the Order didn't just leave it unprotected, did they?"

"Of course not," Severus replied distantly. "It is protected, although not by the Fidelius Charm. But I already knew where it was."

"How?"

He snorted. "Potter, don't be stupid. You know the Order have been watching you your entire life. Arabella Figg isn't the only agent we've had guarding you."

"Then _why_?" Harry asked, with a shadow of what looked like pain in his eyes. "I mean, I get the whole blood relative thing, but... how could you all just leave me there?"

Severus turned and gave him a contemptuous look. "It didn't do you any permanent damage."

"You don't know what it was like!"

"Yes, I do," he said flatly. "I know every last detail, Potter. Quite a lot of it from your own head, although I knew most of it before then."

"Then how can you say that?"

"Because it's true." Severus turned away and kept walking, moving a little stiffly now. "Do you really want to swap stories of child abuse, Potter? Because I assure you, I can very easily beat anything you could tell me. I don't care how ill-used you feel; you may have been neglected, but you were not physically abused."

"Yes I was," Harry hissed furiously, and Severus spun around, storming back to him with his eyes blazing as some inner barrier broke inside him.

"Your uncle used to slap you around the back of the head, did he? My father left permanent scars on my back and put my mother in hospital," he snarled. "Your aunt locked you in your room and fed you table scraps? I was locked in the cellar and fed nothing at all. Do not play this game with me, boy. I've known Petunia Dursley since we were children; she has many faults but she doesn't have it in her to truly abuse a child. Stop whining and _think, _the way I taught you."

"Think about what?" Harry asked in a much smaller voice, his anger apparently not strong enough to withstand the look on Severus' face.

"About _why. _Did you never stop to wonder why they treated you the way they did?"

"Because they hate me."

"Wrong."

"How do you know? I don't believe for a second that you were watching over me."

"Of course I wasn't."

"Then how do you know how my aunt feels about me?"

"Because Petunia loved her sister," Severus said through gritted teeth as they started walking once more, "and you are all she has of her. She was trying to suppress your magic, boy, not to hurt you. It wouldn't work – she didn't know how brutal she would have had to be in order to achieve that – but that's what she was trying to do. I thought you would have worked that out by now."

"I did," he replied sullenly.

"And why did she want to suppress your magic?"

"She thinks it's wrong. Unnatural."

"God, you really are a self-absorbed idiot sometimes," Severus growled. "Oh, I'm sure that's what she says. She's always said it was freakish. It didn't stop her from begging Dumbledore to be allowed to attend Hogwarts with her sister; it didn't stop her being jealous of us. Being the sibling of a Muggleborn is always painful; you cannot even begin to imagine how it hurt the two of them to be separated by your mother's magic. I don't think even they fully realised. No, Potter, you're wrong. Your aunt was trying to protect you."

"What? How was that supposed to protect me?"

"Give me strength," he muttered. "She knew exactly how and why James and Lily died. She knew the full story. If you weren't a wizard, if you grew up a Squib, then the Dark Lord would have no reason to seek you when he returned. If you didn't have magic, you'd be safe."

Harry stopped dead, staring at his back with a stunned expression; clearly, this had never occurred to him. Severus kept walking, and after a moment Hermione nudged Ron over towards Harry and hurried to catch up with him.

"Did you have to be quite so harsh, Severus?" she asked softly. "He didn't know."

He shook his head fractionally. "He should have known. And damn her stubborn hide, Petunia should have told him by now." He sighed. "I lost my temper," he conceded quietly. "I'm not looking forward to this. I haven't seen her in a very long time."

"Were you friends with her, too?"

He snorted a laugh, somewhat to her surprise. "Oh, God, no. She absolutely hated me. She blamed me for stealing her sister away, even though Lily's magic showed long before she met me. Besides, I was a weird dirty boy from the rough estate in the wrong part of town, and the Evans' were middle class and rising. But... we parted on good terms, more or less. I came to her after everything was over and I told her the real story of how and why her sister died; I told her almost everything, far more than Dumbledore had. I haven't seen her since."

"And what you told Harry just now..." she said hesitantly. She had known that he'd been abused as a child, but she hadn't really stopped to think about it – she hadn't _wanted _to think about it.

"All true, and only a small part of the story," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"It's hardly your fault. I survived."

"Is that what your nightmares are about?"

Severus nodded guardedly. "At Hogwarts, they were about other things, too, but in Spinner's End, it's always about... my father."

Those strangled, barely-audible sobs took on a darker meaning, and she shivered, staring at him helplessly. Licking her lips, she made herself ask, "How – how bad was it?"

He gave her a puzzled look before a kind of horrified understanding flickered through his eyes. "Oh, no, no, nothing like that. He wasn't a paedophile. Just a thug. He treated my mother far worse than he did me."

"When – how did he die?" She hoped he hadn't had anything to do with it, but she wasn't sure she could blame him if he had.

"My parents both died while I was still at school. A gas leak. I was sixteen."

His voice was largely dispassionate and his eyes were neutral, but unshielded; he clearly didn't feel much grief now, if he ever had, but she said, "I'm sorry," anyway.

He looked down at her, his eyes softening a little. "It's all right. It was a long time ago. The nightmares are getting easier, and the memories don't bother me much now. We'll talk more later, if you wish. Come on, let's get this over with."

They turned into a cul-de-sac, and Severus crossed the road briskly. "Welcome to Number Four, Privet Drive," he said calmly as they walked up the path to one of the houses. Reaching out, he rang the doorbell.

The woman who answered turned absolutely chalk-white, staring at Severus in stunned shock. "_You_!"

* * *

><p><em>Dun dun DUUUUUN! Only a couple of people guessed it might be the Dursleys, and nobody guessed Petunia specifically. I do like being unpredictable! Next time, some complicated conversations and then some fun with experimental magic.<br>_

_Incidentally, **heartmom88 **recommended a fic to me recently - you guys should check out an author named **Bleddyn**. Her SSHG story, Bat out of Hell, is pretty good - her sense of humour seems similar to mine, which means some good snark! Also a horse-riding Severus. Yum.  
><em>

_And **Explopyro **has written another marvellously sarcastic plothole-exploring one-shot called Political Expediency, starring our favourite contemptuously aloof Malfoy, that you should also go and read.  
><em>


	53. Chapter 53

_Do remember I can't respond to anonymous reviews. And I would think by now you've all read enough of my writing to know I always come back to address topics I've supposedly skimmed over before. Of course we're not done with talking about Harry's childhood. Honestly, people :P It's like you don't know me at all. Patience!__  
><em>

_Anyway, as is quite usual with me, I've done some rearranging and had a new idea for next chapter, so we're going to have to delay our fun experimental magic a little bit, I'm afraid. Have lots of conversation instead; it is all quite important and it does really need to happen here.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"But look at what we've done<br>To the innocent and young  
>Whoa, listen to who's talking<br>'Cause we're not the only ones..."**  
>– Guns N Roses, 'Don't Damn Me'.<p>

* * *

><p>Severus gave her a crooked smile. "Hello, Petunia," he said softly. It had been sixteen years since he had last seen her, and that had been the first time in years; he had still vaguely thought of her as the girl he had once known, but the woman in front of him was fast approaching middle age. The sour expression she had always reserved for him hadn't changed much, though; it made it hard to see her resemblance to her sister, which under the circumstances he was quite pleased about. This was a complicated enough situation as it was.<p>

"What are you doing here?" she asked shakily. As well she might; he doubted she had ever expected to see him again. He certainly hadn't planned this.

"I've brought your nephew and his friends to visit." He sidestepped to let her see the three of them, and if possible she went even paler.

"...Harry?"

"Hello, Aunt Petunia," Potter said quietly, sounding rather uncomfortable. "Um. These are my friends, Ron and Hermione."

She stared for a moment before looking back at Severus. "What are you doing here?" she repeated in a hiss.

He sighed. "It's important, Petunia. You _know _I wouldn't be here if it wasn't absolutely necessary. I need to explain what's going on and I need to ask something of you. It won't take long. May we come in, or would you rather this discussion took place on your doorstep in full view of the street?"

That worked, as he had known it would; she backed up automatically to let them in and Weasley closed the door behind them. "Wait in the living room," she told them curtly, disappearing further down the hall, presumably to get Vernon and whatever they'd called their son out of the way, if they were home; somehow he doubted it was to make them all tea and biscuits.

"Well. This is going to be weird," Weasley observed softly, looking around. Severus ignored this, as he ignored Hermione's obvious curiosity; it was Potter's reaction they needed to worry about now. If he lost control of his temper again it would create a lot of problems. He watched the boy, who was so obviously not pleased to be back here that Severus could actually sympathise – it seemed similar to the way he felt about Spinner's End.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione asked in an undertone, obviously having reached the same conclusion.

He shrugged uncomfortably, gave Severus a not very friendly look and turned away to find a seat. Severus accepted that philosophically; this would always have been a messy situation, under the circumstances. They could sort it out later.

A few minutes later Petunia walked back in with a furious expression that did nothing to conceal the fear in her eyes. The boys had taken the sofa, and Severus had taken one armchair, leaving the other for her; Hermione was sitting on the floor and leaning against his legs. That was a bad idea on so many levels, given Petunia's sharp eyes and spiteful mind and existing bad opinion of him, but Severus certainly had no intention of asking her to move.

Sitting opposite him and fussing unnecessarily with her skirt, Petunia said finally, "What's going on, Severus? We were supposed to be left out of... all that."

"And so you have been," he replied quietly. "But you know what's going on, Petunia. You know _he's _been back for years now. The war is in full swing as we speak."

"Are we in danger?"

"No. We won't be here long enough to draw attention. I need to ask you for something and I wanted to explain a little of what's been happening, because I imagine you will have been wondering." _For all that I'm sure you've pretended not to care._

"How do you know Harry?" she asked slowly. She knew him well enough to guess something of how he felt every time he laid eyes on the boy, although he knew she didn't fully appreciate how much it hurt – nobody could.

Despite himself, Severus smiled a little. "I teach at Hogwarts. I used to, at least, until this summer."

"What's happened, then?"

"It's far too long a story to go into, but Hogwarts has closed. _He _has taken over the Ministry and he's not far from controlling the whole country."

"Oh, God."

"I doubt God has much to do with it," he heard Hermione mutter, and suppressed a smile, nudging her slightly with his knee. _Leave the sarcasm to me, thank you._

"It's not as bad as it sounds. We know how he was able to come back and why he didn't die, and we are very close to undoing it. If we manage it, we'll be able to kill him. It's actually almost over."

"Really?"

"Yes."

He gave her a few moments to absorb this. It must have been a real shock for her; she had done her best to stay out of the magical world as much as possible. If it came to it, he wanted a few moments to gather himself too; this was a very weird situation. He and Petunia had never been friends; she had been jealous of him, and he of her in a way, and they had spent their childhoods mutually disliking one another before he had got her sister killed. Accidentally, yes, but still, it was hardly surprising that she hated him or that he was finding it difficult to relax.

"Is Dumbledore still in charge?" she asked after a while.

Severus bared his teeth in a grim parody of a smile. "No. He's dead." Hermione shifted at his feet and wrapped an arm around his calf, shivering a little and resting her head on his knee, and there was another long silence.

Potter broke the mood suddenly, somewhat surprisingly. "This is how you knew about Azkaban, isn't it?"

Everyone in the room looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

He stared at his aunt. "You said you knew about the Dementors because you'd overheard someone telling my mum. I thought you meant my dad, but – you meant him, didn't you? Professor Snape?"

"Yes."

Severus caught Petunia's eye for a moment. He remembered that conversation. He'd been telling Lily about why they wouldn't be allowed to use magic outside school once they started at Hogwarts, and Petunia had been eavesdropping again; she'd interrupted, and he'd accidentally brought a tree branch down almost on top of her, terrifying both of them and making Lily furious with him. He'd only been nine years old at the time. Nearly thirty years ago; he'd lived several lifetimes since then.

Potter laughed suddenly. "You called him 'that awful boy'."

Startled, Severus barked a laugh as she flushed. "That sounds about right," he agreed, as Hermione turned her head and smiled up at him in amusement.

"Well, you were," Petunia said defensively.

"True," he agreed ruefully, remembering that small, scruffy, ill-spoken street brat he had once been. That part of him was still there, somewhere below the surface; it was the part of him that had been born to survive, and was frankly tougher than the more polished exterior he projected.

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" Potter asked.

"I didn't realise you knew him. I didn't know he was at Hogwarts. And I tried to forget about... all of that."

Potter opened his mouth again, and Severus intervened. "This will have to wait for another time. We're not here for the nostalgia, and we're pressed for time."

She nodded slowly. "You said you needed to ask me to do something. I'm not getting involved, Sev. I can't. I have my family to think of."

The nickname caught him totally by surprise; he hadn't heard it in many, many years and he hadn't expected it from her. Doing his best to ignore it – he'd always hated it and it was associated with so many painful memories, but she had earned the right to use it, and God knows he'd been called worse things – he nodded. "I know. I'm not asking you to get involved. This is going to sound a little strange, but I need a sample of your blood."

"What?"

Instead of answering, he lightly nudged Hermione with his knee again; she jumped, but sat straighter and cleared her throat. "It's true, Mrs Dursley. It's because you're Harry's closest relative, you see."

"I – I'm sorry, who are you?"

"My name is Hermione Granger, Mrs Dursley. I'm one of Harry's friends. We've been working on this a long time. I don't know what Professor Snape has told you about Harry's scar, but we found out a couple of years ago that there's a sort of link between him and – and You-Know-Who. We've been blocking it, but now we know how to get rid of it completely; only we need some blood from a close family member to do it."

Petunia looked at her for a moment. "Are you the one who telephoned our house?"

"Er, no, that was me," Weasley confessed from the sofa, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I've never used a phone-thing before." Severus gave him a scathing look; it wasn't as if it was difficult. The visitor's entrance to the Ministry was in a phone box, after all.

She looked at him and narrowed her eyes. "I know you. You were in the – the car."

Severus sat back in the uncomfortable armchair and enjoyed the sight of the two boys squirming, half closing his eyes and appreciating the looks on their faces. He remembered how petrified he had made them after that little stunt; not a tenth as much as they had deserved, frankly, especially given what he had overheard them saying about him as he'd stalked them before making his move. That Ford was a nice car, too. He'd seen it in the woods a few times over the years, chasing things.

Hermione poked him in the shin and gave him a glare, which probably didn't have the effect she wanted it to. Severus had thought for over a year now that she looked incredibly sexy when she was angry; besides, part of him was remembering the last time he'd seen her looking up at him from the floor, with her eyes blazing as she took him deep into her mouth. Giving her an innocent look, he glanced away and carefully cleared his thoughts as she spoke again.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mrs Dursley, but if we sit here talking about all the stupid things Ron's ever done then we'll be here until Christmas. This really is very important. We wouldn't ask if there was any other way."

Petunia looked at her hands with a troubled expression for quite a long time before she answered, without looking up. "How much blood?"

"These two small vials," Hermione said in her Healer voice. "We only need one, really, but the second one is just in case. I've been taught how to take blood samples; it won't hurt and it's perfectly safe. And it won't affect you in any way."

There was another very long silence. "Will this work, Sev?" she asked, staring at him.

"I'm as sure as I can be without trying it. I think so. But I can't guarantee it completely. I do think it's our only chance, though."

"And if it works, then you can kill him?"

"Yes."

"...Do it, then. Do it and get out of my house."

* * *

><p>Hermione was nothing if not professional; ten minutes later they were in the hallway and being ushered out of the door. Potter paused and looked back at his aunt with a troubled expression, fidgeting. "Where are Uncle Vernon and Dudley?"<p>

"Vernon's at work, and Dudley's at school." The two of them were speaking in rather a stilted manner; Severus studied the dynamics through narrowed eyes. They didn't act like family members, even by his rather skewed standards, and there wasn't much of a resemblance. They couldn't look one another in the eyes, either.

Potter tried to grin. "Shame. I wanted Professor Snape to meet them."

Weasley stifled a laugh at that, and Severus' lips twitched. He'd never met Vernon, but he _had _met one of Petunia's early boyfriends, once upon a time. It hadn't gone well, but it had been extremely funny. And from what little he had heard of Dudley – _who the hell names a boy Dudley anyway?_ – the boy sounded like another Crabbe or Goyle, although hopefully marginally brighter. Petunia looked horrified by the notion, which added to his amusement.

Looking back at Potter, he paused, glancing at Hermione; she returned his gaze steadily with a touch of pleading in her gaze that was asking him to fix this. _I'm not a therapist, damnit! _Still, he was probably in a better position to sort this tangle out than anyone else he could think of. Resisting the urge to sigh, he waved a hand impatiently. "Go on, you three. I'll catch up."

"But I..." Potter protested, and he shook his head.

"Not today. We don't have time. You'll have other chances, Potter. Go on."

"Come on, Harry," Hermione said quietly, towing her friend towards the door with Weasley bringing up the rear. No farewells, Severus noted, from anyone. Interesting.

He stood in the hallway and regarded Petunia pensively, resisting the urge to either shove his hands in his pockets or flick his hair over his face. "You shouldn't have let this surprise you," he said finally. "I told you when we last spoke that it wasn't over. Hoping otherwise doesn't change that." _I should know._

"What do you want? You got your blood. Leave me alone."

"Why did you do it, Petunia?" he asked quietly. "Oh, I've worked out a lot of it. I even gave Potter a couple of excuses. But I'm not convinced it was your main reason. I know you were partly trying to suppress his magic, to make him 'normal', and I know that was partly for his sake, although I'm sure it was also so you wouldn't have a _freak _in your house." He couldn't quite keep his voice neutral; someone else had called him a freak before, and the memory wasn't pleasant. "But there's a lot more to it than that, so I would like to hear why. You were never a nice girl, but child abuse? More my style than yours." Although there were some things even he wouldn't do.

"Whatever he's told you..." she began, and he snorted.

"He's told me nothing. Abused children don't talk about it. Did you really imagine someone as important as the Boy Who Lived would be left unwatched? That we'd just dump him on you and walk away? Dumbledore knew everything, and I'm reasonably sure I know most of it. Why? He's your blood. Do you hate him that much?"

Even as he said it, he realised this wasn't just about her and Potter. Even now, part of him wanted to understand why and how people could turn on their own families, what made adults turn against children. He didn't like the realisation; that was supposed to have been behind him now.

"Doesn't it hurt you, when you look at him and see her looking back from his face?" she asked; despite the stiff anger in her voice, he could hear the touch of pain. Petunia might not have liked her sister very much by the end, but she _had _loved her. Just as he had, once.

"Of course it does," he replied tiredly. _More than anyone has ever imagined. _"But it's not his fault, and I try not to punish him for it. It doesn't always work, as I would be the first to admit had anyone actually asked me instead of accusing me, but I have done my best not to take it out on him, as much as I can. Is it because you blame him for Lily's death?" he asked. "So do I, a little. I've still never raised a hand to him in my life."

She couldn't meet his eyes, and he frowned, studying her. He'd wondered if it was something to do with her husband, but no, she didn't show any of the signs. "Do you even know why, any more?" he asked. "Nobody could blame you for treating your son better, for treating him as less, for whatever warped reason, but not to that extreme. You don't know the damage you could have done. The damage you _have _done, because he's not really normal, and I'm not talking about magic. Vernon hates him, doesn't he? And you stood and let it happen." He might have told Potter the truth, his own life had been so much worse, but that didn't make a difference. He could still understand how the boy felt, better than anyone else would believe.

"Why are you doing this? You can't expect me to believe you care about him, not when he would have been yours if it weren't for James!"

That hurt. It was easy to keep his face impassive, but he could feel a muscle twitching under one eye. If she had been male she'd be bleeding for that right now, even though it was wrong. Taking a deep breath, Severus replied levelly, "I am simply finding it hard to reconcile his upbringing with the girl I remember. You were never a nice girl, but you never liked bullies. You pushed Mikey Davis off his bike because he pulled Lily's hair." _And then he came after all three of us and I got my arse kicked, _he remembered idly. _Probably because of what I called him, admittedly_. "And you never hesitated to stand up to me. And now I learn you let your own son become a bully and let your husband turn borderline abusive. Do you really hate the magical world that much?"

Petunia glared at him with eyes full of resentment. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Good point," he agreed calmly. "But you know you're not the only one pushed aside by Dumbledore. You couldn't have attended Hogwarts, but he could have done more than merely send a patronising letter. We're not all like him. And you shouldn't have taken it out on a small boy. You were all he had."

"As if you care."

Severus shrugged. "Not about him specifically, no, but I don't like bullies either. God knows I treated him badly enough, but I kept to the right side of the line, no matter what anyone else might think. Enough, Petunia. I have a war to fight. You were wrong, and you know it as well as I do or you wouldn't be arguing with me. I still know you better than that. Whatever your reasons, you were wrong, and you owe your nephew an explanation. Once this is done, you will sit down and talk to him. He's grown up a lot in the past year or so; he might even listen with something resembling intelligence."

Her pale eyes flashed with fury, and for a heartbeat she looked horribly like Lily. "You don't have the right to give me orders, not after what you've done! Isn't it your fault he had to live with us in the first place?"

The accusation stung a little, but Severus had largely made his peace with that by now. He'd always feel guilty, but only up to a point. "Partly, yes, but I did everything I could to try to prevent it. There is nothing more I could have done. Nobody else involved can say the same." He met her eyes, and he knew his gaze had turned cold and hard. "When this is done, you will talk to him," he repeated softly. "You owe him an explanation, if nothing else. I'm not asking."

She shrugged in response, but he still knew her well enough to know she would. God knows what would be said, and no doubt it would end with Potter storming off, but still, he'd done all he was prepared to do. He turned towards the door. "I'll leave you to your life, then."

"Severus."

"Yes?" he asked, turning to look at her through narrowed eyes at the changed tone of voice.

"The girl who was with you earlier, who took the blood."

"Miss Granger?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow and fighting a sudden desire to laugh; he hadn't expected this, not from her. "What about her?"

"Don't even try it. You're with her, aren't you."

"Yes," he replied calmly; he didn't want to lie about something that important, and it wasn't as if Petunia was in a position to tell anyone anyway.

"She's a child," she hissed, giving him a disgusted look.

"She's eighteen. She's of age in both worlds and years above the age of consent; she is also far more mature than most young women her age. If things go according to plan we're both going to live at least another hundred years anyway, and if they don't go according to plan then it really won't matter." One way or another, he didn't intend to outlive her, at least not for long.

"She's one of your students, isn't she?"

"She used to be, yes. She wasn't by the time our relationship began." Admittedly she had still been his student the first time he had kissed her, but he really didn't care any more. She was more important than the rules. They both knew he wasn't a dirty old man or a pervert so who cared what anyone else thought? Besides... he almost smiled... if she hadn't wanted him, she would have made it abundantly clear.

"She's Lily's son's friend," Petunia said darkly.

"Believe me, I had noticed," he said irritably. "That has nothing to do with anything. Lily never wanted me so why should it matter that someone else finally does? If it's any consolation, I intend to marry her, assuming she'll have me." Saying it aloud to someone else made it all the more real; he was still scared out of his wits, but he also wanted to grin and announce it from the rooftops.

That earned him a rather shocked look and took a lot of the anger out of her face, and Severus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, well aware that everyone was going to think the same thing – big bad teacher abusing his position to seduce a naïve and helpless innocent schoolgirl. The fact that the naïve and innocent schoolgirl would have hexed his bollocks off if she hadn't been willing and wasn't helpless by any definition of the word probably wasn't going to change anyone's minds.

"Is she..."

"No, damnit!" he snapped, seriously insulted now. He lowered his voice to a hiss. "No, she bloody well is not pregnant. For God's sake, Petunia, I know you don't think much of me, but do you really think I would treat any woman like that? You once knew me better than that, and I haven't changed _that _much." Not that it was possible anyway at the moment, but that really wasn't the point.

"No. No, you haven't. I'm sorry." She hesitated. "I always thought Lily made the wrong choice, you know. I never liked you or approved of you, you know that... but... I think you loved her more than James did."

That caught him by surprise. Severus stared at her for a while before nodding slowly. It was probably true, simply because when he loved, he did so completely and held back nothing of himself. It wasn't very healthy, really, but it was how he was. "She made the right choice for her," he said finally. "I couldn't have given her what she wanted, and she wasn't what I really needed either."

Petunia nodded slowly and took a deep breath, lifting her pale eyes to his. "I hope you win, Severus. I hope you make him pay. Good luck with your life. But don't come back here. Do you understand?"

He met her gaze for a moment and nodded slowly. "I understand," he said levelly. "One piece of advice, before I go. If your son fathers children, the odds are quite high that they will have magic, especially if they are girls. Start getting used to the idea now." He inclined his head to her. "Goodbye, Petunia."

* * *

><p>When he caught up with the three of them on their way back to the alley to Apparate, it was Ron who spoke first; Hermione had no idea what to say, frankly. "Sev?" he asked somewhat incredulously.<p>

"Use that nickname again and I will break your jaw," Severus replied distantly. "I've never liked it."

"You let my aunt get away with it, though," Harry said pensively.

"Because I'm never going to see her again. Sadly, I do have to see the pair of you regularly for a little while longer."

"It was my mum's name for you, wasn't it?"

"Not just hers, but she was the first to call me that, yes."

Harry stared at Severus' back with an almost longing expression; he so obviously desperately wanted to ask questions, but equally wasn't sure he would be allowed to. He looked at Hermione, who shrugged; she didn't know how Severus would react either. He obviously wasn't happy at the moment, but he seemed all right.

"Will you... can you tell me a bit about her? Please?" Harry asked finally.

After a pause, he replied distantly, "I'm not telling you bedtime stories. But I will answer questions, if I must."

"I don't really know what to ask. I don't know anything about her. At all."

"I'm not sure I ever knew much," Severus muttered, sighing. "Well, think about it."

"Thank you."

He grunted in response and lengthened his stride, and they walked quickly and in silence back to the alley. Hermione caught up and walked next to him until he looked down at her; his eyes softened slightly, although he clearly wasn't in the mood to smile, and he touched her hand briefly, silently telling her that he was all right. A brief gleam in his eyes also told her to stop fussing over him, which she ignored with a swift smile.

Harry cleared his throat as they prepared to Apparate home. "Um... could we go somewhere first?"

"Where?" Ron asked; from the look on Severus' face, he already knew what Harry was about to say.

"...Godric's Hollow."

"No," Severus said flatly.

"Why not?"

"One, it will probably be watched. Two, I'm not going back there again. If you really want to go, get someone else from the Order to go with you after the war ends."

"Again? You've been there before?"

"Yes."

"Did you go to their funeral?"

"No. I had other commitments at the time, and I don't think I would have dared anyway."

"Then when...?" He didn't answer, and after a moment Harry said very quietly, "You were there that night, weren't you. On Halloween."

Severus swallowed audibly and nodded, his eyes growing empty and cool once more. "Yes."

"What happened?"

"You know more than I, Potter. I got there too late." His voice was flat, his eyes shadowed. "Until I heard your memory of it during an Occlumency lesson, I didn't know exactly what happened either. Although your memory is incomplete. It stops as he curses you."

"I remember Hagrid taking me on the motorbike," Harry said thoughtfully. "Sort of, anyway. How do you know my memory is incomplete? What happened after the curse rebounded?" Severus shook his head wordlessly and didn't answer. Harry stared at him. "What did you..."

"Don't," he hissed, his eyes hardening as he held up a hand. "I won't talk about that night. Quite apart from anything else, I don't remember it very clearly. Yes, I was there, afterwards. That's enough."

"Sorry."

He shook his head again and sighed. "It's not safe to be out here for much longer. Let's get back to the house. I will try to answer some of your questions, but there are things I won't talk about, and some things I won't know the answers to. It was a complicated situation."

* * *

><p>Some time later they had all settled down in the living room. Hermione respected the look Severus gave her and stayed away, perching on the arm of the sofa beside the boys, giving him a bit of space; she wasn't sure that was the best thing for him at the moment, but it was obviously what he wanted. Evidently he felt he needed a bit of distance if he was to talk about it. She and Ron kept silent, just listening as the two of them started to talk.<p>

"How did you meet her?" Harry asked softly.

"I was nine," Severus replied slowly, his dark eyes remote and Occluded. "I saw her showing magic to her sister. She was the only other magical child I had ever met. I followed them home to find out where they lived, and followed them around for most of a week before I dared to speak to her."

"And you were friends?"

"I was the only other magical child she knew, too. At that point she didn't even know that what she was doing was magic, not really. Nor did her family. Her parents were very worried that there was something wrong with her. I gave them the answers they needed and eased a lot of the confusion. It didn't matter then whether we actually had anything in common or not."

"When did you meet my dad?"

His expression didn't alter, remaining empty and distant. "We were sitting on the train talking about what houses we might be in. Your father and godfather were present and heard me mention Slytherin and promptly took exception to me. We had our first argument before we even knew one another's names; I think they had only met one another half an hour before, but already they had become quite the team," he added bitterly.

"Was that it?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

Severus nodded. "That's it. They disliked me purely because I mentioned Slytherin. That's how it started. Later it developed into quite a feud, and I certainly gave back as good as I got, but there was no reason for their initial dislike and I never understood why they took against me. I did nothing wrong at the beginning. They were friendly and personable to everyone else, but not me, and to this day I still don't know why. I suppose I never will, now."

Harry swallowed, clearly not happy to hear this, but nodded. "How did you feel when my mum was Sorted into Gryffindor? Did you think you could be as well?"

"I didn't ask the Hat to put me with her, if that's what you mean. I didn't try to influence it at all. I wanted to; my mother had warned me that Slytherin would not be tolerant of a half-blood and that I would find it difficult, and once your mother had been Sorted into Gryffindor I knew it would be difficult for us to remain friends if I ended up in Slytherin. I think I was hoping for Ravenclaw, somewhere neutral but prestigious. But I said nothing and I let it Sort me without my opinion; I think I believed that it would make sure I ended up where I was supposed to be, not where I wanted to be. I don't really remember. It was a long time ago."

Hermione considered this. If Severus had been put into Gryffindor as well... to be honest, she doubted he would have survived. The Marauders' harassment had been bad enough without his having to share a dormitory with them as well; she had a feeling that the suicide attempt would have happened years earlier, and would probably have been successful. He also probably wouldn't have learned the harsh lessons that had taught him to survive, and it was doubtful he would be here now. He was certainly more than brave enough to be a Gryffindor, but then, he was smart enough for Ravenclaw and loyal enough for Hufflepuff too, and it was his Slytherin cunning that had kept him alive.

"Did the Hat say anything to you?" Harry asked him.

"Not directly, no. It was muttering to itself for a while before it said Slytherin, though. It took a while for it to decide."

"What happened after that?"

He shrugged. "I had a bad time of things for a few weeks, until the older boys in Slytherin learned that I could look after myself and that I wasn't going to let myself be bullied, at least not by them. Your mother and I didn't see much of each other. We didn't have many lessons together; we did our homework together in the library every few evenings and sometimes spent part of the weekends together, but that was about it. It bothered me a lot more than it did her; your mother was a popular girl and quickly made a lot of friends, but I didn't. I only had her, really. Even then it was all rather one-sided."

"And my dad, and Sirius, and the others?"

"I didn't see much of them either, but the pattern was already established. They hounded me whenever they saw me, often purely just because I was there. The early years weren't bad. It was once we all entered adolescence that everything started falling apart. The petty little squabbles and bickering became quite serious fights as our tempers developed; we had more lessons together; your father and I began to understand that we were rivals, of a sort, and your godfather was starting to show signs of instability."

"What?"

"Black's behaviour wasn't normal, Potter. It isn't normal for a sixteen year old to try and kill another boy on a whim. Despite everyone who spoke to him about it, the potentially serious consequences never registered with him. Until the day he died I am certain that he never saw anything wrong with what he did. He genuinely could not see what the problem was and he never really understood why his friends objected. But that came later."

Harry took a deep breath, obviously steeling himself. "Did you love my mother?"

"Yes," Severus replied simply.

"When did you fall in love with her?"

"I didn't. Not the way you mean. It doesn't work like that, at least not with me. There was no moment of realisation, with choirs of angels and singing bluebirds or whatever. From the day I first met her she was the most important thing in my life, and that didn't change even after our friendship ended; it didn't begin to change until she died. But to answer the question you really meant to ask, I first admitted it to myself properly when I was about thirteen, and at the same time I resolved never to say anything to her."

"Why?"

"Because I knew she didn't love me. I'm not stupid. Even then I knew that I needed our friendship far more than she did and that it wasn't an equal relationship. We were never as close as I wanted, and by then I was spending more time with my year mates and with the older Slytherins. I was already taking the first steps towards the Death Eaters, although I didn't know it at the time."

"Did she ever know how you felt about her?"

"Of course she did. Teenage boys are never as smart as they think they are; I'm certain she knew. I think it was one reason why our friendship ended; she didn't know how else to discourage me. She certainly never felt anything much for me. But I never told her."

"When – when did you stop being friends?"

"You saw it, Potter. You saw the exact moment that it happened."

"When you called her a Mudblood," Harry said somewhat disapprovingly.

"Yes. When I called her a Mudblood." His voice was cold. "When, aged sixteen, I was being held in the air by one ankle, using a spell I had invented, by the boys who had made my life a misery for years for no good reason, who were tormenting me yet again simply because they were bored. When I had been disarmed, when they were beginning to hurt and humiliate me yet again in front of a sizeable crowd and were threatening what was actually a form of sexual assault. When I was scared, helpless, and so angry I could barely see. So I lashed out, I made a mistake and said what amounted to a spiteful racial slur without thinking. She joined in with the crowd who were taunting me, she turned on me, and she never spoke to me again."

"Never?"

"There were a lot more memories in the Pensieve. Be glad I dragged you out when I did; if you had seen anything following that incident, I would have killed you or at the very least forcibly wiped your memory. I spent the rest of the term trying to apologise and begging her to forgive me. I slept in the corridor outside Gryffindor Tower every night for a week. Everyone else thought I was pathetic. I was a laughingstock. And finally she told me, in quite graphic terms, to go to Hell, and that was that."

"Just because of that?"

"No. That was just the excuse. She had wanted to end our friendship for some time before that, I'm certain of it. She didn't like my friends in Slytherin, she was worried about my increasing fascination with the Dark Arts, she was uncomfortable with my feelings for her. I wasn't the kind of boy she wanted as a friend any more and she wanted out."

"That sounds so... cold."

"She was sixteen and she didn't know what to do about the fact that her friend was on the verge of joining an organisation somewhere between the Hitler Youth and the Ku Klux Klan. She wanted to get the hell away from me in case I dragged her down with me. I can't blame her for that. It wasn't her fault that I was in love with her."

"That evening in the Room of Requirement," Harry said slowly. "What you said to me. This is what you were really talking about, isn't it? When you talked about what might happen if I didn't learn to control myself?"

Severus nodded. "It was one of the worst and most defining moments of my entire life. I doubt my friendship with your mother could have lasted much longer anyway, but if it had ended less painfully, and if it hadn't been so outwardly my fault, I think things might have turned out differently. I didn't want you to make a similar mistake."

Harry swallowed and nodded before moving on. "The thing in the Shack... Was it the way you said it happened, in our third year?"

"More or less. Black set me up to get myself killed. Your father panicked and barely got there in time to stop it. And Dumbledore did nothing, except to threaten me with expulsion and memory modification if I said anything."

Hermione bit her lip very hard, trying not to cry. Severus sounded remote and dispassionate now, but she knew a lot of the real story. That incident had eventually led him to the Death Eaters, and she was sure now that it had mostly been just because nobody else would have him. It had also led him to attempt to commit suicide only a month or so after it had happened, even if the attempt had only been half-hearted. Add in Lily's betrayal and rejection, and she knew now that was also the year his parents had died... His life hadn't been happy before, and then in just a few months it had fallen apart completely.

"Did my mum know what had happened?"

"No."

"What would she have done if she had?"

"I really don't know. I don't think she would have done anything, although she might not have been such friends with Black. I don't think it would have made much difference apart from that."

"She was friends with him?"

"With all of them. She liked them anyway, except for their treatment of me. What happened by the lake and then the incident in the Shack shocked your father and Lupin, at least, and they backed off a little. Not much, but a little, and it was never as public. Your mother thought it had more or less stopped and they never told her differently, so there was no reason for her not to be friends with them."

"When did she start going out with my dad?"

"Seventh year, just before Christmas. I think your father proposed after the graduation ceremony. I don't know; I tried not to know."

"They went into the Order when they left school?"

"All of them, the Marauders and your mother, at Dumbledore's personal invitation."

"And you joined the Death Eaters."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to," Severus replied honestly. "There were extenuating circumstances. I had been misled about what would happen to me, what I would be asked to do, what would be involved, and I truly felt that I had no other option; I had nowhere else to go and I was being offered false hope of something that didn't exist. But I was also angry and bitter, resentful and ambitious, and at the time, I wanted to."

"Did you ever see my mother again?"

"Not alive."

His Occlumency was fraying; his eyes were stormy and his voice was tight with suppressed pain. Hermione gave Harry a pleading look. _Please, Harry, stop this. You're hurting him. _Her friend wasn't looking at her; he wasn't even looking at Severus any more, but staring at nothing, thinking about what he had been told.

"What was my mum really like?" he asked finally. "What sort of person was she?"

"I never knew her as an adult. As a child, she was bright, cheerful and curious. She was quick tempered but incapable of holding a grudge; she was happy and optimistic and never seemed to stop, always moving and chattering. As a teenager she was pretty, popular, vivacious; she was clever but much given to snap judgements and instant decisions, often not stopping to consider before acting. She knew what she wanted and went for it; she was brave but sometimes too impulsive. She had a good heart but she wasn't as open minded and accepting as she was when she was younger, and she was less tolerant of anything that wasn't ideal. Beyond that, you would have to ask any of the other members of the Order; they knew her better than I, after school ended."

"And my dad?"

"I never saw the real James Potter. All I ever saw was the thoughtless, arrogant, vicious bully who made my life absolute hell. But I do believe that he genuinely loved your mother, and she would never have married him if there wasn't more to him than that."

"Am I much like either of them?"

"More than you could possibly imagine. You are the absolute image of James in every last detail, except for the colour of your eyes; you have his voice and his way of speaking. You have Lily's eyes, her handwriting and a lot of her mannerisms. From what I know of you, your personality seems to be a surprisingly even blend of both of them."

"Is that why you hated me?" Harry asked quietly.

"Mostly, yes," Severus admitted honestly. "You couldn't have had more of a painful impact on me if someone had specifically designed you to do so. But it was also because you are quite annoying, because everyone else seemed to think you were God's gift, because you made my life far more difficult than it needed to be right from the start, and because despite all the evidence to the contrary you insisted on continuing to see me as the villain no matter what I did or who told you that I could be trusted."

After a moment Harry smiled despite himself. "Fair enough." He sat back. "Thank you for talking to me."

Severus shrugged and stood up. Ron spoke for the first time, trying to improve the mood. "It's my turn to make dinner tonight. What does everyone want?"

"Nothing," Severus said distantly, walking towards the door into the kitchen. "I want a cigarette and then I'm going to bed."

"It's barely dark," Harry said, looking a little guilty; apparently he had just realised how hard this must have been for the older man. Severus didn't answer, closing the door behind him.

The three teenagers sat silently for a few minutes, listening until they heard him climb the stairs; water ran briefly in the bathroom before they heard the bedroom door close.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said finally, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's okay, Harry. I know how badly you've always wanted to know about your family, and so does he. If it was too bad, I don't think he would have answered you. I'll go up and see him after we've eaten. He's upset, I think, but it could be a lot worse. I think he needed to talk as well, you know."

"That couldn't have been much fun for you, though."

"I knew a lot of it already, and I know a few things he didn't talk about." Hermione smiled a little sadly. "Mostly I just wanted to hug him and promise to make it better. I don't think he'd have appreciated that, though."

"Have you ever talked about my mum?"

"No. As I've said before, Harry, it's nothing to do with me, or with the two of us. Lily was his past, and it's helped make him who he is now, but that's all. I'm certain that he loves me, and that's all that matters." She gave the ceiling a worried look before shrugging and looking back at her best friend. "Are you okay?"

"Um, yeah, I think so. I feel a bit weird, but I think I'm okay. I think after the war's done, I want to sit down with Lupin and have a long talk. I wish I'd asked him more in third year, really. And I'll try to talk to Aunt Petunia, as well." He looked pensive for a moment before grinning suddenly, looking more like his old self. "Right now, though, I'm bloody starving. C'mon, let's see what food there is."

* * *

><p><em>So there were more conversations here than I originally thought there were going to be. Still, they were important ones, as I said. Onwards and upwards; as well as yet more conversations, one of which was long overdue, we're going to be seeing a couple more characters next chapter, one new and one who hasn't featured very much at all. And no, neither of them are Dursleys.<br>_


	54. Chapter 54

_A bit more talking to start with, including something I think you'll like. Then we're going to encounter a couple of other people, and start setting up a Horcrux-destroying ritual. Fun, yes?  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"I don't understand it, for you it's a breeze<br>Little by little you've brought me to my knees  
>Don't you care<strong>

**No I've never come close in all of these years**  
><strong>You are the only one to stop my tears<strong>  
><strong>I'm so scared of this love..."<strong>  
>– George Michael, 'A Different Corner'.<p>

* * *

><p>Later that night, Hermione left the bathroom and cautiously let herself into the bedroom, closing the door behind her and letting her eyes adjust to the small amount of light filtering through the thin curtains from the only working lamp post outside. She knew damned well that Severus was awake, but he said nothing, and nor did she as she got changed before approaching the bed. He had his back to her, but he hadn't moved over as far as he could have. Sliding under the covers, she waited on the very edge of the bed until she'd warmed up a bit before scooting over to settle against his bare back, tentatively sliding an arm around his waist and resting her cheek against his shoulder; she could feel the stiff tension in his thin frame.<p>

"Thank you for talking to him," she said softly. "It obviously wasn't easy for you." _Or for me, _she added silently. She understood why he was the way he was, but it was hard to hear him admit loving someone else when he hadn't said it to her.

He sighed. "No."

"Are you all right?"

"I've been better, but I think so."

"Aren't you going to tell me to stop fussing over you?" she asked gently, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

After a pause, he replied very quietly in a rather small voice, "No."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment against the tears that threatened. _Oh, Severus. _Pressing more closely against his back, she hugged him from behind, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder blade. "Do you want to talk?" she asked softly, nuzzling at the closest scar. "I don't mean things that you think Harry should know, or things you think I should know. Is there anything _you _need to say?"

"I don't know." He sounded rather lost. "I've never talked about it to anyone."

"Did you ever intend to tell anyone? Any of us?"

"No. There are letters in my will that explain some of it, but not all, and I never planned to say anything while I was still alive."

"Well, if you want to talk now, I'll listen. You know that."

He was silent for a while. "I didn't tell him everything. I did love Lily, but part of me hated her as well, by the end. It's complicated, but... in some ways, she was the same as everyone else. She gave up on me, just like they did. We never spoke about my interest in the Dark Arts, or about the Death Eaters, or the Dark Lord. She just got angry and pulled away. If she had ever asked me to choose between her and them, I would have chosen her, but she never did. Just like everyone else, she assumed that I had already made my choice, and acted as if I had; and by doing so, they took that choice away. By the time I did come to choose, most of my other options had already gone. I needed more from her, and she couldn't give it to me. She couldn't be what I needed, and I was never what she wanted, and part of me blamed her for that. It has taken me years to realise that. But it wasn't her fault."

"Not completely, perhaps, but she can't be excused completely either, Severus. The final choice was yours, and you did want it, by then. But plenty of people are partly to blame for you ever reaching that point. It's not all your fault either." She kissed the back of his shoulder and tried to press closer still.

"No, I suppose not." He didn't sound as though it mattered much to him now. "Lily never treated me very well," he said rather distantly. "She was like many young girls, she liked knowing she had a friend she could persuade to do anything she asked, and I was so scared of losing the only real friendship I'd ever had that I didn't have the confidence to say no. She used me rather badly, at times, and I let her. And then, in our final years, after it had all fallen apart... Potter would say things, sometimes, things he could only have heard from Lily. I – I hope she didn't do it deliberately, but she gave him plenty of new ways to hurt me. She never used my name again, either, as far as I know. If she had to refer to me at all, she only ever called me Snivellus." His voice cracked noticeably as he said the nickname, and Hermione tightened her arm around his waist, hugging him as hard as she could.

Pausing for a moment to get himself back under control, he added more calmly, "Before you start feeling guilty, don't. I'm not as damaged as I was back then, at least in certain ways. I've already told you that you don't own me completely. When I give way to you, it's because I want to, not because I have to or because I need to. Part of me always resented it with her, even then. It's not the same now. Understand?"

Briefly amused by the odd stern moment in the midst of this discussion, she smiled a little. "Yes."

"Good." He paused before speaking again, more softly. "I didn't tell Potter the whole truth about why I hated him, either. Mostly, I hated him for bringing it all back to me. I thought I was over it, you know. I thought I had moved on. I went for months, almost years at a time without really thinking about any of that. I wasn't happy, but I suppose I was content enough, even though I didn't really like my job and even though I was isolated and somewhat lonely. And then Dumbledore announced at the end of one year that Harry Potter would be turning eleven at the end of July, and it all came crashing back in on me and I realised that I hadn't managed to move on at all. And then I saw him for the first time, with his mother's eyes in his father's face, and it _hurt, _and I hated it. I hated still feeling like that after all that time. He tore open wounds that I thought were long healed, and I spent the next few years trying to deal with things I had already dealt with once already, slowly working through it all over again."

Hermione nodded against his back to let him know she was listening, not really sure what to say in response. Now that he had said it, this made a lot more sense than any other theories she had ever managed to come up with. _Oh, my poor Severus. You shouldn't have had to go through it all alone. And nobody around you ever realised, or would have cared if they had..._

"When the Dark Mark came back, part of me was relieved," he continued quietly. "It gave me the perspective I needed to truly put it behind me. I was able to think far more clearly about what I was actually doing with my life and why I was doing it, and I started to realise that I was doing it for me now, not for Lily or anyone else any more. I wanted to re-enter the war and work against the Dark Lord, because I wanted it, not because I felt I should or because I thought I needed to. I finally started to understand where my own personal lines were drawn and what sort of man I had become. And once the war began again, I remembered what was really important."

He shifted slightly, and she recognised the motion; it was the way she herself snuggled back against him when they lay curled up with him spooned against her, just a slight movement to reassure herself that he was there and to appreciate the warmth of his body. Nuzzling his shoulder, she moved her hand slightly over his stomach, cuddling closer against his back and trying to offer him what comfort she could.

Severus sighed again; he was beginning to relax a little bit now, some of the tension easing. His voice sounded less remote as he spoke once more. "And then you started to insinuate yourself into my life. It took me a while to realise what was going on, and a while longer to know how I felt about it; as I said earlier, I don't live in a world of sudden bright epiphanies and dazzling revelations. It's always been far more gradual, far more cautious; I always have to be sure before I admit anything even to myself, and I wasn't sure about you for a very long time. I didn't understand what was happening. I still don't, really; I can't possibly explain it, but somehow you found a gap that I didn't even know was there, and you managed to become what I need. I didn't think that was even possible. I didn't think it existed, so it took me a while to recognise it."

He sounded almost amused for a moment. "I've never wanted very much from life. All the ambition, the magic, the interest in the Dark Arts, the need to prove myself, it's mostly a front, an attempt to take second prize, to compensate for not being able to achieve the main goal. All I've ever _truly _wanted, deep down, was not to be alone, to have just one person in my life completely. One person who didn't hold back, who could give everything of themselves to me and who could understand and accept everything about me in return. I saw other people all around me doing just that and envied them. I've been jealous of most of the world since I was a child. I didn't understand that before, either. The past year or two has taught me a lot about myself, and I have you to thank for that."

She smiled against his back and shook her head. "You never need to thank me for anything either, Severus."

"Touché. But I worry about the price you pay for loving me, and the price you will pay in the future. Because I... I do – love you, you know, Hermione, but that probably won't be enough. I know who and what I am, and what I am is damaged, psychologically and emotionally. I don't know if I can be what you need."

She swallowed and tried desperately to keep her voice light, closing her eyes to hold back the tears. "Okay, well, I'm a girl, and this is the first time you've told me you love me, so I'm going to need a minute here before I can talk." Resting her cheek against his back, she breathed in the familiar scent of his skin, the clean smell of rain after a storm touched with all the subtle hints of herbs and minerals and copper and smoke. Her breathing eased, the tears receding as she gathered her thoughts and sorted out what she wanted to say.

"I don't know either," she said finally. "Nobody knows until they try it. But I'm as sure as I can be right now. Ask me again in fifty years or so. I don't need all that much out of life either, really. With you, I know you won't hold me back, you won't ask me to fit my life to yours, to be what you think I should be. Right from the first year, you've always seen the real me, not the person I was trying to be. That used to scare me, but now I know it's what I want. I know you'll let me go the way I want to go, without resenting it, that it's what you want as well, that your life will fit with mine. I know you'll let me be independent and I know that when I need you, you'll be there. I know you're a bit damaged, but I don't think it's actually all that important, because you know it as well so we can work around it. I know I love you, and I know you love me. We're both very smart people, so I'm sure that between us we can work out the rest as we go along."

Hermione drew back, tugging slightly as she pulled her arm from around his waist, and he obediently rolled over to look at her. As she had expected, his eyes were guarded, but it was more important that he could see her face right now.

"I don't need hearts and flowers, Severus. I've never been that sort of girl. I'm not dreaming of a white picket fence and two point four children and a dog. I want a difficult but rewarding job that will challenge me without being soul-destroying and at the end of the day I want to come home to my ugly cat and pick a stupid fight over dinner with my snarky git of a husband and then make up in bed afterwards. I don't need to hear that you love me twenty times a day and domestic bliss would bore me rigid. I fell in love with my eyes open, Severus," she added. "I do know what you're like. Not only do I absolutely not care any more, but I've come to like it. You're a bastard, but you're _my _bastard."

He was smiling almost despite himself by the time she had finished speaking, wry humour and genuine warmth glittering in the depths of his black eyes. "Well, as long as we're clear that I tried to warn you."

She laughed softly and pushed him to lie on his back, curling up against his side as his arm settled around her and resting her head on his chest to listen to the reassuring steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Shut up and go to sleep. I do want to talk about your parents at some point, but not now. It's been a long day. We've got a Horcrux to destroy, a Dark Lord to kill and then a life to organise."

"Yes, _dear_," Severus replied, his rich voice heavy with dry sarcasm.

* * *

><p>Severus woke up with his face full of bushy brown hair again and smiled wryly to himself as he carefully turned his head away to find some clear air to breathe; he was getting quite used to this now. Truthfully, he hadn't expected them to last even this long; even just this last couple of months were beyond his wildest expectations. He had assumed either she would have come to her senses or he would have massively fucked up by now. It didn't seem likely that she was going to come to her senses any time soon, though, since against all logic and reason she did seem to be completely in her right mind and to be well aware of who and what he was – but there was still plenty of time for him to fuck up.<p>

He gently blew the last few stray hairs away from his face and settled deeper into the bed, savouring the warmth of her body snuggled against him as he thought back. It still seemed rather surreal to him; her birthday and last night had both been unbelievably terrifying experiences. They had also been in the wrong order, he acknowledged to himself wryly. Originally, he had intended to let her know how he felt and give her plenty of time to get used to the idea before he started hinting – _hinting – _at long-term plans such as marriage; but he'd panicked.

To be honest, he was surprised he had managed to say anything at all. In the end, proposing had been easier than admitting he loved her, which seemed strange to him. He supposed it had a lot to do with his upbringing; his parents' marriage had been rather meaningless, and really, he had only proposed because he felt he should, because he had wanted Hermione to know that he was serious and hadn't had the courage to actually say that. He didn't give a damn if they married or not; it was the emotions that mattered, not the symbols. Although he had to admit, his possessive streak enjoyed seeing his ring on her finger, and it was a pleasant thought to imagine her taking his name. His bastard side was quite enjoying everyone's reactions, too, he conceded wryly.

Last night, though... he'd expected his voice to crack like a teenager's, as the words stuck in his throat. He'd never been so scared – even returning to Voldemort, two hours late, to establish himself as a double agent again hadn't frightened him so much. That said absolutely nothing good about his mental health, but it wasn't really his fault. He had never in his entire life spoken of love to anyone except in the abstract; he'd never told anyone that he loved them. He hadn't been the affectionate kind of small boy who said he loved his mother as naturally as breathing; he supposed he had loved her, sort of, but it had been a complicated situation. Presumably he had loved his father when he was very little, before he'd known what the man was like, but he didn't remember and he'd certainly never said so. As for Lily... ha. The less said about that, the better, really. And there had never been anyone else.

He hadn't really planned to say it like that, either. He hadn't wanted to make it such a big deal. Yes, it was important, probably more important than anything else, but it shouldn't have been so dramatic. Frankly, he should have said something long before this anyway. Hopefully Hermione had already known he loved her, but in some ways she was almost as pessimistic as he was and he suspected she hadn't let herself think about it until he'd finally said so. That hadn't been fair to her, really, but not as unfair as yesterday had been. He hadn't realised until afterwards, when he'd gratefully escaped up here to metaphorically catch his breath and sort himself out again, but it really must have been hard for her to hear him admit to formerly loving Lily when he hadn't let her know that he loved her now. A lot of other women wouldn't have tolerated that so patiently, he suspected; he was more grateful than ever to have found someone who understood why he was the way he was. Finally making himself admit he loved her seemed a very small price to pay, no matter how difficult he had found it to force the words out.

Severus wasn't entirely sure why it scared him so much. Certainly fear of rejection was part of it, but he trusted his instincts up to a point, and he trusted Hermione's honesty and her ability to know her own feelings for what they were; he'd known for weeks that she loved him, bizarre and unbelievable though that was. Reflectively he carefully brushed her insane hair out of the way again and pressed closer against her back, nuzzling against the back of her neck and relaxing once more as he thought about it. Listening to her breathing, he concluded finally, rather unhappily, that it was because he didn't think his love was good enough. He knew the limits of what he had to offer anyone, and to him it didn't seem like it was enough; after all, he was inherently unlovable and about as emotionally developed as a stone. She deserved so much better. Still, Hermione didn't seem to care, and after the way she had spoken last night he was reassured that she did know what she was getting herself into.

As though agreeing with him, she sighed in her sleep and shifted back against him, drawing his attention away from vague uneasy thoughts of the future to concentrate very much on the present and the arousal he had been ignoring since he woke up. Severus grinned to himself, not at all displeased to be feeling like a teenager again, and quite deliberately shifted in return to rub his insistent erection against the curve of her arse, kissing her neck gently and listening to her breathing change as she started to wake up. He could get used to this, too, he told himself.

* * *

><p>Hermione knew they had a hell of a lot to do, and the sooner they got on with it, the better; there was one more Horcrux to destroy, and they had the means to do it at last, and the boys were going to be worried and impatient. It was utterly selfish to delay for any reason, really, but she defied anyone to remember that if they woke up in bed with an unusually affectionate and sleepily amorous Severus Snape. Humming in pleasure as his hand started to wander, she leaned back against him, twisting a little to try and see his face as he kissed her shoulder and nipped lightly at her skin. "Good morning," she murmured lazily.<p>

"So it seems," he responded in almost a purr, his breath warm on her neck; she could feel the slight rough scratchiness of stubble as he nuzzled at her skin.

"Down, boy," she chided, shivering happily.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Man."

"That's better."

Grinning, she shifted and twisted to look over her shoulder at him. "I mean it, behave. Not now, okay? I can't focus. I'll make it up to you later, I promise."

Sighing theatrically, he yielded and settled down again obediently, pointedly wriggling to shift his hips back away from her a bit before sliding his arm back around her waist. "Worrying already? I told you, it should be fine."

"This is me, Severus. You really think that's going to make any difference?"

"True," he agreed, nuzzling against her neck idly; not sexual any more, at least not as much. "Is it just that?"

As always, his perception was completely accurate. "No, not just that. I learned a hell of a lot yesterday, you know. Are you okay?"

He made a vague sound as he thought about it. "I've been happier, but actually yes, I'm all right. What about you?" he asked guardedly. "It was all a little strange..."

"I knew the important parts already," she reminded him. "And it was interesting to meet Harry's aunt. I've not really heard much about her." It had also been very nice to finally hear him say that he loved her, although she knew better than to mention that. There was one thing that had been bothering her, though. "I think you should talk to Harry this morning, before we start," she said quietly.

"Don't you think I talked to him enough yesterday?"

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about what you said before we got to the house."

"Oh. That." He sighed. "I'm not happy about that, but I needed him to shut up and pay attention, and shocking him is the fastest way to achieve that, as is reminding him that he is not the centre of the universe. And I admit I lost my temper with him. From my perspective he really is whining about nothing most of the time and a bad childhood is no excuse. I don't speak of my own experiences precisely so I'm never tempted to hide behind it. I know intellectually that just because his childhood wasn't as bad as mine doesn't mean he didn't suffer, but really, intellect doesn't have much to do with this."

"Tell him that, then."

Severus shifted closer, pressing his face against the back of her neck, and sighed again. "I can't talk to him about this. We're not friends, Hermione. Last night was because he has a right to know about his parents, nothing more. We'll never be friends. You know me better than anyone, but even you can't fully appreciate how much it hurts me every time I look at him. We tolerate one another because we have to work together and because we both care about you, but it's never going to be more than that. He isn't as obnoxious as he used to be, and I think he sees me differently now, but we're never going to sit down for heartfelt talks. I'm sorry, but I still find it difficult to talk to you, let alone anyone else, and especially not him."

Hermione thought about this, absently twining her fingers through his where his arm draped her waist. She was disappointed, but at least he was being honest. And really, given six years of mutual hatred sparked by a hell of a lot of issues, even this level of tolerance was pretty amazing. They could work on it later. "Okay," she conceded finally. It was a shame, but it could be worse. "I'll talk to him after breakfast then, just quickly. I want to make sure he understands what you really meant – he's always been a bit funny about talking about the Dursleys."

She felt him nod against the back of her neck before he squeezed her hand gently. "He shouldn't be too hard on Vernon and Petunia, you know. I know what they did to him – I probably know more than you do, actually, if he won't talk about it – but it was a complicated situation. Not many people would be willing to raise someone else's child under such odd circumstances, and not many Muggles could cope – even imperfectly – with a young wizard who wasn't their own, especially one who could bring danger to them later. They both knew why they needed to shelter him and what might happen."

"I suppose..." she agreed reluctantly, remembering a few childhood incidents. It couldn't have been easy for her parents, and they hadn't been in danger.

"Besides, remember their experiences of magic," he continued absently. "Petunia was always jealous of Lily's powers, and I admit I often rubbed her nose in it when we were young. And once Lily was accepted into Hogwarts, she was left out in the cold; she never got as much attention as her sister. Good marks in English and Maths do rather pale beside a sibling who can turn her purse into a small animal. Then Lily and James were killed and they had Potter dumped on their doorstep; I explained most of it when I visited her, but then they encountered nothing from the magical world until Hagrid smashed down the door, shouted and threatened and gave their son a pig's tail. Later the younger Weasleys broke into their house, and their own son was attacked by Dementors – Petunia knew exactly what they are and what they do, believe me. Then the twins attacked their son, that stunt with the toffee..."

"How do you even know all this? I know, I know, you're a spy and you know everything, but seriously..."

He chuckled softly and relaxed against her back. "Arthur told me about that one. He was horrified; I gather Petunia made some quite creative threats while he put things right. Anyway, the damage was done. Their only encounters with magic have been frightening and painful and potentially dangerous. I'm astounded they let Potter back into the house after any of that, especially after he nearly killed Vernon's sister."

"You're right," she agreed ruefully. "They still didn't need to treat him quite so badly, though."

"Didn't they? It's not always so simple, Hermione; you should know that by now. Do you think I _chose _to act like such a bastard to an eleven year old boy the way I did? You know I'm not the way I am through choice. I literally couldn't stop myself a lot of the time. If asserting his inferiority and treating him as less meant they didn't do anything worse to him, then we got the best possible result out of it. If it had been too bad, he wouldn't have been left there."

"Dumbledore wanted him there, Severus," she pointed out coolly.

He chuckled again. "You're not a natural cynic; don't try. Yes, he did, but you haven't met Arabella Figg, have you? If it had been too bad and Dumbledore wouldn't listen to her, she'd have gone to someone else in the Order and rallied a rescue mission. Hell, she'd probably have done it herself, single-handed with just her army of cats. Potter came out of it all right. Better than he would have done had he been raised in our world as a spoiled little prince. Imagine if he had turned out like Draco?"

"Is that any way to speak about your godson?" she asked, more amused than anything else now.

"I care about him, that doesn't mean I don't know what a little tosser he is. He'll grow out of it." He stretched. "I suppose it's time to make a move; I need a bit of time to prepare before we get things moving and I want to stop by Headquarters quickly. Go and give your friend whatever therapy he feels he needs, and try to make sure he's reasonably calm and cheerful."

"You're going to have to give us a few more details than that before we start, Severus."

"I know, and I will, when I get back from Headquarters."

* * *

><p>Frankly Severus was happy to get out of the house; the last thing he wanted or needed right now was to be dragged into any more heartfelt emotional revelations. Today wasn't going to be at all easy and he needed to be as calm and reasonably tempered as he ever got, which meant after this quick trip he'd need to meditate while the others sorted themselves out.<p>

As was his usual habit when unaccompanied, he Apparated to a short distance from Grimmauld Place and approached on foot; with Moody gone the Order didn't have anyone paranoid enough to insist they make sure the place wasn't being watched. It was Secret-Kept, of course – Minerva had taken over from Dumbledore – but the Death Eaters knew the approximate location even if they couldn't get in.

Someone _was _watching, he realised instantly, and his thoughts stilled as he automatically shifted into Death Eater mode; drawing his wand smoothly, he moved forward in a soundless stalk down the alley. The noise of his Apparition had alerted the unseen watcher; he'd have to move quickly. As soon as he spotted the faint shimmer of a Disillusion charm, Severus lunged forward, jumping sideways as the hidden figure tried to dodge and shoving his victim up against the wall with one hand tangled in a fistful of robe.

The figure struggled briefly, then paused and whispered hoarsely, "Professor Snape?"

Severus raised his eyebrows and loosened his grip slightly; he knew that voice. Raising his wand, he brought it down none-too-gently on his victim's head and lifted the Disillusion charm, staring into the pale face of a very unhappy Percy Weasley.

"Well, isn't this interesting," he murmured, placing the tip of his wand into the slight hollow just below the young man's Adam's apple. Apparently focused exclusively on the renegade Weasley, he let his senses expand, trying to judge if there was anyone else nearby. "Unfortunately for you, I am in something of a hurry. You have thirty seconds to tell me what you are doing here and why I shouldn't eliminate you." Not, of course, that he would actually kill the daft bugger, but he suspected Weasley wouldn't believe that; the young man looked like a complete nervous wreck, thin and pale and shaking and badly in need of a shave.

"No – please, I..." He gulped, sagging back against the wall and looking at Severus through frightened eyes. "I've been waiting here for a week, trying to see someone to speak to. I..." He sighed, his expression changing, and his shoulders slumped. "The Burrow's been abandoned. I want to see my family, sir."

"I taught you for seven years, Weasley. You know I'm not stupid. I don't believe for a second that my old friends won't have thought of using you to try and get access to the Order."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Not willingly, no," Severus agreed. "That would hardly pose a problem for them. You are out of time, Weasley."

"_Please_, Professor. I – I was wrong. I knew that months ago, but I couldn't get away. I... I don't even know if my family are okay..." He faltered, and Severus sighed.

"They're all alive and well. The Order have suffered one or two losses, but not from your family." That was more of an explanation than he really owed this young idiot, but he'd taught Percy Weasley for seven years and he wasn't a bad person. Just a bit idiotic occasionally, a bit too focused on bettering himself and with the true Gryffindor's ability to ignore anything that didn't fit with his shiny view of the world until his face was rubbed in the truth.

"...Thank you, sir. Who...?"

"As if I'm going to tell you, given who you work for," he replied scathingly. "You're a woeful idiot with no sense of perspective, Weasley, but you're not stupid."

"I don't work for them any more. I left."

"They don't let people leave. I should know. You go in alive, and you come out dead."

"Yes. Well." Weasley looked down. "I wasn't exactly important enough to be missed, was I. Look, Professor, I know I've been a – a woeful idiot, and I was wrong. Very wrong. I don't know how much you know about what's been happening at the Ministry..."

"More than enough," he replied curtly.

"Well, you'll understand why I had to get out, sir. Some of the things I've seen... I never wanted to be part of that..."

"Don't you _dare _start crying on me. I've had all the gushing sentiment I can stand recently. You know I can't simply take your word for it. Look at me."

He was in a hurry, and he wasn't really anxious to wade through the miasma of guilt and misery inside Weasley's head; if he wanted to do that he had enough inside his own mind. Doing his best to keep his touch moderately light, Severus skimmed the young man's surface thoughts and memories as quickly as possible, catching flashes of the same abominations he'd seen inside Umbridge's mind, only this time tinged with horror rather than dispassionate pleasure. He pushed deeper, searching for familiar faces, but wasn't surprised not to see many; the Weasleys were blood traitors, but more than that, they were _poor, _which was truly an unforgiveable sin. None of his former brethren would lower themselves to associate with a Weasley no matter how he tried to separate himself from his family.

Pulling back, he shook his head and lowered his wand, regarding Weasley dispassionately. The young man stared numbly back at him with the old eyes of someone who had been shocked out of his nice comfortable safe world and dragged into a realm of nightmares. Slytherin eyes, frankly; he'd lost count of the number of students who had passed through his office with eyes like that. Resisting the impulse to bite his lip, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Why the hell is it always me," he muttered, giving Weasley a diluted version of his old Professor glare. "By rights I ought to kick you half way to Land's End for the trouble you've caused your family, but I don't have time for that. I ought to leave you cooling your heels here and send Professor McGonagall out to deal with you too, but I don't have time for that either."

"Are you going to kill me?"

He gave him a withering look. "You were never as vastly annoying as your younger brothers, and I haven't killed any of them yet, although Ronald has come dangerously close more than once. No, I'm not going to kill you. Wait here."

* * *

><p>"There you are, Minerva. I need to talk to you."<p>

"Severus, how lovely to see you again. I'm fine, thank you, and how are you?" she asked dryly.

"Funny. I really don't have time for a long conversation. I'll give you the full details sometime tomorrow; the edited version is that Dumbledore told me the nature of the connection between Potter and the Dark Lord, and we've been working on how to break it. Now we can, and in a few hours I hope we will. Once that's done, there's nothing stopping us from ending this."

"Really?" she asked, all sarcasm forgotten. "Severus, that's wonderful!"

_If it works. _He shrugged impatiently. "I'm taking someone with me to help with this, but first I need one of those bits of paper with the location of Headquarters."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "I'm not agreeing to bring anyone else in here."

"You will this one," he replied dryly. "I'm doing a Weasley swap. I need Ginevra, so I'm leaving Molly someone else to fuss over endlessly."

It took a moment, but she got there. "_Percy?_"

"None other. Looking and feeling very sorry for himself. He's been skulking around outside for days hoping to spot someone who might want to let him in."

"You've checked him, I assume?"

"Don't be insulting. I really am in something of a hurry, Minerva. Leave him there for all I care."

"I had expected Hermione to make you slightly less grouchy, you know," she observed dryly, and he snorted. _She's incredible, but she's not a miracle worker. _"All right, all right. Here. Go and bring him in. What do you need Ginny for?"

"I said I'll tell you tomorrow." He took the paper with ill grace and headed back outside to let the rogue Weasley into the fold once more.

* * *

><p>Severus was really getting impatient now. He tried to hide it, pacing back and forth and trying to stay out of the way of the roomful of crying redheads, scowling if anyone looked at him. Molly had attempted to hug him and he had only just evaded her; luckily she seemed to have forgotten his existence now, and Percy was in danger of being suffocated if she didn't let go of him soon. Even Arthur and the twins were almost crying. It was nauseating, frankly; Severus had never been comfortable around happy families that didn't despise one another. In fact, it disturbed him, especially when there were so <em>many <em>of them. But every time he was tempted to interrupt and snarl at them, he could practically hear Hermione telling him to leave them alone; they hadn't known if Percy was alive or dead or if he hated them or not, they were entitled to be pleased to see him.

Finally things seemed to be calming down; he rather cautiously approached and cleared his throat pointedly. "Molly, I need to take Ginevra with me. She needs to help Potter with something."

"Is Harry okay?" the girl asked instantly, and he quelled her with a look. She was still young enough to obey the dreaded Professor Snape, at least. Ignoring her question, he looked back at Molly.

"Is it dangerous?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

He almost smiled, and it was an effort to keep his face impassive as a few of the others chuckled. "On this occasion, no."

"How long will it take?"

"I'm not sure. She'll be back tomorrow, I imagine."

"All right, Severus. Go on, Ginny. _Behave yourself._"

"Yes, Mum."

* * *

><p>Out in the hallway, Severus turned to face the youngest Weasley. "This is the deal, Miss Weasley," he told her crisply. "You will do as you are told, without arguing. You will not comment on the house, or on what we are doing, nor will you irritate me by gushing over Potter in my presence. Otherwise you will be staying here. Your presence will make things a little easier, but I do not actually <em>need <em>you there. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. Can I ask what we're doing?"

"No. I will tell you what you need to know before we begin. Your friends will give you a proper explanation afterwards, I imagine." Quite possibly about much more than just Horcruxes, but he really didn't care any more.

"Yes, sir."

_At least someone still listens to me._

* * *

><p>Hermione and the others had been pretty shocked when Severus returned with a rather bewildered Ginny in tow, although not half as shocked as they had been when she told them he had found Percy. Severus himself had disappeared upstairs to meditate – or, as he had put it, 'to get a bit of peace and quiet' – after warning them darkly to save long explanations for afterwards. She understood why Ginny was there, at least, but nobody else did. It would have to wait until this was done.<p>

Severus came back downstairs, putting a stop to all conversation, and they looked at him expectantly. His expression was slightly distant, his attention focused inwards.

"All right," he said slowly. "There are two parts to what we are going to be doing. The first part will isolate the link between Potter and the Dark Lord; I will be doing this myself. The second part will destroy that link, which I will need help with. I'm not going into the technical details of how this will work, mostly for the simple reason that I am not sure. Potter, I need to tell you that I am going to be making this up as I go along and there is a chance it won't work."

Harry thought about this, then shrugged. "I guess I won't be any worse off if it doesn't. Will this hurt?"

"I have absolutely no idea, but you are going to be unconscious for the duration, so I don't suppose it matters."

"Why?"

"It's going to be easier on both of us. This is going to involve a fair amount of Legilimency, and you won't be able to either panic or lose your temper if you're unconscious; it is vital that you stay calm and do not fight me. Your mind isn't that strong, and a battle within it will not end well." Hermione noted with some amusement that Ginny looked annoyed but Harry and Ron didn't; they were used to Severus by now and appreciated some of the humour behind his insults.

"What do you need from the rest of us for the second part?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Primarily, magical power, but it's a little more complicated than that. Mostly I need you all to stay calm and not fight me; it will probably feel strange. Don't interrupt me, either; some of this will be quite delicate work and I can't be distracted unless there is an actual emergency of some sort. I suppose one of you should probably make sure Potter is still breathing every so often, too," he added casually as an afterthought. "And that second wand of yours might be helpful."

Hermione blinked at him. "It's going to take that much power?"

"I hope not, but better safe than sorry. No, I'm going to need to use the link."

She processed that, since he was being cryptic because of Ginny; he was going to use their peculiar shared-ownership of the Elder Wand, presumably to make it easier for him to draw on her magic. His copper bracelet was visible under his shirt cuff, too, presumably for the same reason. Then he'd be able to use his links to her to reach Ron and Ginny, possibly... "Are you going to try and form a circle?" she asked doubtfully. That was a very old method used for certain ritual blessings among more tribal communities; she wasn't sure anyone in wizarding Britain still used it.

"Of sorts, yes. That will certainly be the starting point, but as I said, it's going to be more complicated. I'll give you the technical details afterwards, if you like, once I know what it was I actually did. Any questions? No? Good."

* * *

><p><em>Next chapter will be the full ritual. In full, even if it ends up being longer than my usual chapters, which it might well do. No evil cliffhangers this time, I swear.<br>_

_A few of my regular reviewers seem to have disappeared... You guys okay?  
><em>


	55. Chapter 55

_Sorry for the delay, had family visiting and so on.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Suddenly the lights go out<br>Let forever drag me down  
>I will fight for one last breath<br>I will fight until the end  
>And I will find the enemy within<br>Because I can feel it crawl beneath my skin..."**  
>– Breaking Benjamin, 'Dear Agony'.<p>

* * *

><p>Lacking any better ideas, they had gathered upstairs in the bedroom the boys had been using, that had once belonged to Severus' parents. Potter sat rather self-consciously on the bed, staring around at them. "I'm really not comfortable with being unconscious," he said slowly. "I know you said it'll help, but... I'd rather know what's going on."<p>

_Because you still don't fully trust me, _Severus filled in silently, without rancour. That was fair enough, really; had their positions been reversed, he would have reacted in the same way. He shrugged. "You can stay awake through the first part, if you really must. But once the – the link is untangled, I'm knocking you out, one way or another. Staying calm is almost impossible for you in the best of circumstances; I don't see you managing it through this."

The boy scowled and shrugged, trying desperately to pretend he wasn't worried. Severus kindly pretended not to notice he had a death grip on his girlfriend's hand. "All right, all right. What about my aunt's blood?"

"We don't need it until the second part. I'll be marking certain places on your skin with it. Oh, don't look like that. It's only blood. All right, then, if you insist on staying awake for this, keep still and quiet. I'm going to be doing something very similar to when I removed my Dark Mark..."

"What?" Ginevra exclaimed, and he gave her a warning glare.

"I told you that you would receive an explanation afterwards. Be _silent, _Miss Weasley." He was privately somewhat surprised that neither her brother nor her boyfriend had told her about it already, but it didn't really matter. He turned his attention back to Potter. "As I was saying," he said pointedly, "I will be doing something similar here. It's going to be centred on your scar, and it is going to feel decidedly odd. You know what it feels like when you have pins and needles? Imagine that, but all over. It will start tingling and it will gradually grow more and more painful."

"Are you going to cut a chunk out of Harry's head like you did your arm?" Weasley asked, sounding somewhere between nervous and amused.

"No. A frontal lobotomy would probably help him in many ways, but I'm not qualified for brain surgery," he responded dryly. "This isn't going to be as physical. I don't actually know much about your scar, Potter; it might bleed or something, but I'm not going to be causing any physical injury."

"Gee. Thanks."

Suppressing a snort, he glanced quickly at Hermione, not at all surprised to note she had her lower lip caught between her teeth. She stopped biting it long enough to give him a quick smile that warmed him even as he hoped like hell that he wouldn't fail her obvious faith in him. Looking away, he drew his wand – his own wand, not the Elder Wand, not yet – and regarded Potter steadily. "Lie down and try to keep still. _Arcanum hominis revelio._"

Ignoring his audience now, he watched the flickering magic playing across Potter's skin, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. It was hard to tell precise colours when doing this but there were definitely two distinct shades there, once he knew what to look for. Reaching out, he rested the tip of his wand on the boy's forehead directly over the lightning shaped scar and seized his wrist with the other hand, closing his eyes briefly and concentrating.

The main obstacle was that he simply wasn't all that familiar with Potter's magic, but the months of mock-duelling had helped him get a vague idea and he certainly knew what the Dark Lord's magic felt like. Unfortunately both of them were fire orientated, so would feel fairly similar, but... yes, there was something slightly different. _All right, then, here we go... _Opening his eyes, he began slowly moving the tip of his wand back and forth across the scar, starting the soft Latin chant he had used before. It wasn't even a spell, as such, but an old meditative cantrip he'd found decades ago in an old book that had turned out to be useful for focusing his mind. Change a few words here and there, and it could be adapted to near enough anything.

He could feel the magic flowing under his hand now, stirring and eddying in response to his own power moving it. It was a slow process, and it would be easier if he encouraged Potter's magic to do the work instead of trying it himself, but he couldn't really risk draining the boy yet; he'd need every scrap of power later for the most difficult part. Severus closed his eyes and lost himself in concentration.

* * *

><p>Slowly returning to the real world, he opened his eyes, blinking away sweat. He had no idea how long he had been working, but he was starting to feel tired. Severus looked down at Potter and suppressed a sigh of relief; before he had started this, the boy's aura had been a network of braided cords, his magic and the Dark Lord's tangled around each other. Now there were two separate networks overlaying one another.<p>

"So far, so good," he said quietly, wiping his face on his sleeve. "Still with us, Potter?"

The boy nodded shakily. He was pale and sweating and the scar had turned bright red, but he seemed to be coping. "How the hell did you do this to yourself and then cut your arm like that?" he asked hoarsely.

"It's probably best not to ask," Hermione interjected, trying her hardest to sound brisk and matter-of-fact and – as far as Severus was concerned – utterly failing. He knew her well enough to spot how worried she was. "How are you both feeling?"

"Like he said, pins and needles, and it hurts a bit," Potter reported, lying through his teeth. It would actually be hurting him quite a lot, which was one reason why Severus had suggested he be unconscious throughout.

"Could you feel what was happening?" Weasley asked interestedly.

"I dunno," was the helpful response. "I could feel something, but I can't really describe it. Has it worked?"

"Yes," Severus lied smoothly. It wasn't much of a lie; it had _mostly _worked. The Horcrux was _mostly _unbound from him. It was certainly a huge improvement over the previous situation. He could see Hermione knew he was holding back and gave her a reassuring smile, since Miss Weasley only had eyes for her boyfriend at the moment. "As well as could be hoped," he elaborated. "Let me get my breath while we prepare the next step, and we'll move on."

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked him more directly.

He met her eyes and nodded firmly. "Yes. Stop fussing so much or this will take all night. Do you have the blood?"

Her glare indicated he was going to pay for this later, but she handed it over without comment and went back to biting her lip and fiddling with her sleeve.

"Can I ask what's going on yet?" Ginevra asked somewhat plaintively. "Whose blood is that?"

"I really wouldn't ask questions, Gin," her brother told her, grinning. "It gets dangerous. We'll tell you everything once we're done. Promise."

Severus opened the little vial of blood. "Shirt off, Potter. This needs to go on your back."

"Is there any point in my asking why?" he asked, reluctantly hiking his t-shirt up over his head. "Is that high enough?"

"A bit more, it needs to start at your neck. As for why, have you ever heard of a chakra?"

"No."

The blood had been treated with an anti-coagulant when it was taken; he dipped a finger in it and began to draw a line down Potter's back as he talked. "They're nodes, or energy points. There are seven major ones – isn't it ironic how the number seven keeps showing up? – and a lot of minor ones that we don't need to worry about. Hermione, you'll know most of the minor ones by other names, nerve points and reflex points and pressure points and so on. The major ones are all located along a line that runs along the length of the spine from the top of the head down to the groin. They play an important part in a lot of Eastern magic, but it's not something that is studied much in this part of the world."

"So what will the blood do?" That was Hermione, interested enough to stop worrying for a few moments; Severus suppressed a smile and kept working, smearing the cold and slightly sticky blood down from the nape of his patient's neck along the spine to his belt.

"It won't _do _anything specific... this isn't easy to explain but in effect I am trying to create an autoimmune response. By heightening Potter's awareness of himself – in this case, linking his magic via his chakras to his genetic background to remind him who he is magically, and by bolstering his magic with energy from us later – I'm hoping that his body will realise that the Dark Lord's presence is foreign and not part of him and will turn on it to destroy it from within."

"What would happen if we weren't here to give strength?" Weasley asked.

"I imagine his head would explode," Severus replied dryly. "We're talking about a_ lot _of power." Finished with the line of blood, he leaned over Potter's shoulder. "Hold still, the last bit needs to go on your forehead." He carefully drew the rune for purification, large enough to cover the scar and the location of the Third Eye chakra, before straightening up and tossing the vial to one side, absently wiping his fingers on the hem of his shirt. "Sit like that for a minute until it dries."

He turned his attention to his helpers. "Have any of you consciously given magic to another wizard before?" Hermione had done it unknowingly, but that was a separate issue.

"No."

"I'm not sure how much you'll sense. Circle magic doesn't function in quite the same way as most magic we do. You'll feel energy moving through you and towards me, and it will feel tiring because this is likely to take a while. Don't resist it; just keep calm and let it happen. Don't try to break the link, for any reason. _If _any of you manage it, which is doubtful, the backlash could cause a lot of damage to anyone in this room. There is no reason to struggle; if you become too drained, the link will dissolve. You aren't in danger."

"Are you, Severus?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"My answer hasn't changed since the last time you asked. Or the time before that. Or the time before _that,_" he told her, amused at her slightly sheepish expression as she looked away. "I told you, stop fussing. All right, Potter, time to go to sleep."

The boy grinned around at his audience with as much bravado as he could muster, pulling his shirt back down. "Is You-Know-Who going to get hurt from this?"

"Oh, I do hope so."

"Good. Okay, well... see you all in a few hours, I suppose. Good luck."

"I don't need luck. _Dormio._"

Severus cracked his knuckles before reaching to tug the unconscious figure into the required position on his back at the end of the bed, so he could stand by the boy's head. "Hermione on my right, you two on my left. Make sure your wands are touching bare skin somewhere, but you can't hold them. Join hands – yes, with Potter as well. Stop flinching, Weasley, I don't particularly want to hold your hand either. God knows where it's been."

"Is this where we need the other wand?" Hermione asked uncertainly, and he nodded.

"You and I will need to hold it, I think. Don't worry too much about dropping it, I can do this without it if necessary." He took her hand, linking his fingers through hers and making sure the Elder Wand was held as securely as possible between their palms, using his other hand to thumb back Potter's eyelids before linking with Weasley.

"If this takes too long, Harry's eyes are going to dry out."

"His physical reflexes still work – he can still blink, even unconscious. All right, is everyone ready? Here we go..."

* * *

><p>This was going to have to be done in stages; Severus had been planning it for days. The first step was, naturally, Hermione; she was simply the easiest for him to link with, in part because several links already existed between them. Just being lovers created a bond on a basic level, one reaffirmed every time they had sex, but there were stronger ties than that between them. He reached simultaneously through his beaten-up copper bracelet, the scar he'd got from it, and through the Elder Wand, and felt the soft warmth of her magic sliding across his senses.<p>

The surge of power through the Hallow seemed less extreme with both of them in control, calmer and easier to manage, which he was grateful for. He'd been doing some thinking – in his _spare time _– and he had a theory that perhaps part of the reason for the strange shared ownership of it was due to the life debt that he owed her from when she had saved his life following his torture, the debt he suspected she was resolutely refusing to think about. It might also have something to do with their respective magics – both air and water were as far from the more usual fire magic as you could get, after all, and this wand felt very much aligned to fire.

It didn't particularly matter, but it was something interesting to think about when he needed a bit of a break from earth-shattering life-altering decisions.

He felt Hermione squeeze his hand and almost smiled, squeezing back as the link stabilised. So far, so good. Now through her to Potter; not easy, at all, but the past few hours had given him enough familiarity with the boy's magic to be able to do it. He could feel the growing magical instability as the Horcrux reacted to in effect being cut off from its host; he'd been thinking of it as a parasite since learning about it. Once he was sure he had control of the half-circle, he reached cautiously for the Weasleys, the girl first.

There were quite a few reasons why he had decided to bring Ginevra into this. The first reason that would matter was the fact that she and Potter were sleeping together whenever they could escape the watchful eye of Molly Weasley; that sexual bond was enough to give him a starting point. There was still no way this would have worked without some awareness of elemental alignment – earth magic was perfect for circles and was far more common in the cultures that still used it. Without that, he couldn't have done this, because he really didn't know her at all.

Briefly, apropos of nothing, Severus recalled the previous year and listening – reluctantly – to Slughorn rambling on about his current crop of favourites. For some reason the old walrus had taken a real shine to Miss Weasley and had been constantly comparing her to Lily, which Severus didn't understand; he couldn't see any real similarities beyond red hair and occasional cheekiness, which were both solid Weasley traits anyway. From what he'd seen of the girl their personalities weren't very similar, and as for the red hair, it wasn't even close to the same shade. Then again, Slughorn was pretty good at seeing what he wanted to see.

_Stop getting sidetracked, _he chided himself lightly, concentrating once more. The girl wasn't happy with this; she was trying not to resist, but with limited success. Hardly surprising; as far as she was concerned, he was still just _that bastard Snape,_ or _that bastard Professor Snape _if he was lucky. She'd been kept well out of everything to do with the Order, and in school he'd been his usual unpleasant self in her lessons and never seen her out of them. She was actually the only Weasley apart from Percy who had never had a detention from him, since she had stumbled on the only strategy that worked with him – being half-decent at Potions and keeping her head down.

_Almost... yes... there we go. _There was a similar background feel to magic between family members, he'd noticed it years ago with Draco and Lucius, and all the Weasleys had a certain common feeling to their magic, something quiet and solid. Now he had the feel of it, it wasn't too difficult to drag the other Weasley into the circle to finish it; those mock duels last year had helped. The last link formed and the circle closed with a sudden rush of power that made every hair on his body stand on end and sent a shiver through all of them.

Breathing slowly and carefully, he turned his attention to the focus of the circle, the unconscious Potter. Looking down, he stared thoughtfully into the slightly glazed green eyes and took a deep breath. "_Legilimens._"

* * *

><p>Since Potter was unconscious and Severus wasn't actively looking for anything yet, the boy's mind was still and quiet. Severus was projecting his own visualisation, using his personal imagery of the ocean to give himself some context; it wouldn't have worked had Potter done any real work with Occlumency before, but since there were no pre-existing structures in place he was able to override and give himself something he could work with easily. There were some decidedly odd currents here, both from Potter's instinctive unease at his presence and the distant influence of the Horcrux – now he knew what he was looking for, it was so obvious that he couldn't believe he'd missed it before.<p>

If only Dumbledore had said something years ago! The solution hadn't been all that difficult to concoct once Hermione had put him onto the right idea. Severus was _good _at creating new spells, he'd always had a knack for it, and he knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone else on the 'Light' side. If the old man had trusted him just a little more, this could have been resolved years ago. He could have done it properly, spent more time developing a complete ritual and expanding the circle to include as many as possible, instead of this rushed and improvised job.

Still, no point in dwelling on it now. Severus concentrated, trying to get used to the general atmosphere of the boy's mind and the strange duality he could sense, sorting out the impressions and attempting to expand his senses throughout Potter's body as though this was a Healing process – as it was, in a sense. Once he thought he more or less had the hang of it, he drew carefully on the linked magic of the circle, concentrating for the moment on Ginevra Weasley's magic. This was the main reason why he had wanted to include her – she was the only other living person that he knew personally who had ever been possessed by one of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes, however briefly and imperfectly. Her magic remembered that, and he could use that familiarity now to create an echo of her previous response when she had attempted to rebel against the Dark Lord's command and from there encourage Potter to fight in the same manner.

Hopefully, anyway.

As he worked, Severus considered rather sardonically the final reason he had wanted the girl here. There was a very, very small chance that the 'power of love' theory actually was right; he shared Hermione's cynical opinion that it was almost certainly a load of rubbish, and in fact doubted it more than she did, but she had made a good point that there was a small amount of evidence to support it. He hadn't lived this long by dismissing anything out of hand, even if he frequently appeared to do so. Just in case, it certainly couldn't hurt to have Potter's girlfriend here. Severus had no idea whether or not the pair actually were in love, but they were certainly young enough and daft enough to believe they were, and that was probably good enough.

He wasn't sure why Dumbledore had come up with that theory in the first place. As far as he knew, the old bastard had been possibly even less familiar with love than he was. It was a nice lie to tell a child, but peculiarly most of the Order seemed to accept it quite happily. Severus wasn't convinced – love was powerful, of course it was, but he didn't think it could automatically defeat evil, only motivate people to do so. There had to be some actual concrete force somewhere.

As for 'power the Dark Lord knows not'... well, what the Dark Lord didn't know could fill the fabled Great Library of Alexandria. The prophecy could mean anything. It might just mean that the Dark Lord hadn't expected Potter to have an ally with Severus' exact skills – there couldn't be many wizards experienced with mental magic, the Dark Arts, Healing and magical improvisation. Or, even more simply than that, it could just refer to the fact that the Dark Lord didn't know Potter had an additional Horcrux inside him. Divination was hardly an exact science and he wasn't going to take any of it as gospel, especially since Trelawney had been the Seer in question this time. He didn't believe the bit about Potter and the Dark Lord needing to kill one another either; once this last Horcrux was destroyed, anyone could wipe Riddle out, and he personally rather wanted to do it himself.

_Stop getting distracted, _he chided himself, concentrating for a moment on his own mental defences to chase his irrelevant thoughts away and clear his mind. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the circle, drawing everyone's magic very carefully into Potter's body and mind in search of the Horcrux's central anchor point, which he was sure had to be in the scar. He could faintly sense the additional little boost that came from the blood smeared down the Sushumna nadi that ran along the spine; regardless of how she felt about it personally, Petunia had the same genetic makeup as Lily, and there was magic in her blood. Not much, but enough.

Severus carefully and systematically worked his way upwards, almost sweeping the boy's body for any traces of dark magic. It was similar to the way he had driven back the magic from his Dark Mark to concentrate it in the brand itself, but this was more metaphysical than physical and he couldn't really verbalise it – which was going to make trying to explain it to a curious Hermione later virtually impossible; he was working by instinct, not thought, simply doing whatever seemed to feel right.

Finally he managed to create the mental image he wanted, holding to the picture of a wavering and indistinct piece of the Dark Lord's magic fenced in by strands of power from Potter and from himself and the others in the circle. Pausing for a moment to mentally catch his breath, he reviewed his progress; so far, so good. One more effort should, if he'd calculated right, wipe out the Horcrux, but he'd have to be careful because it was likely to be quite reactive. He was tired, and this was going to take a lot of power from all of them, but it was too late to stop now unless he wanted Potter to wake up possessed and try to kill them all; he'd seen too many dodgy horror films to want to participate in one and he probably didn't have enough strength left for a killing curse against someone he didn't actively hate.

All right, then. Severus concentrated; this was probably the most difficult part. Not many people could mentally multi-task enough to draw on so many sources simultaneously and hold them in balance. He _reached: _for Potter's magic and the distant sense of his unconscious mind and emotions; through the blood over his chakras to his maternal line; through his sexual bond to his girlfriend and from there to the solid presence of both the Weasleys here, representing the only real family he had; through his own ties to Hermione and everything she was and represented; through the Elder Wand and the sudden increase in the amount of sheer power flowing through them all; finally to his own magic and force of will.

Gathering it all up, he brought it to bear, and at the same time reached for his long-established and unshakeable Occlumency defences to protect against whatever might result from this. It wasn't just magic, he could feel everyone's emotions now in a jumbled snarl that jarred his senses but it was all lightness, fear and courage and stubbornness and love in a thousand different forms, and he threw it all into the mess and tightened his mental shields as something gave way with an almost audible detonation.

The psychic backlash slammed into him with enough force to completely shatter the circle and the impact sent him reeling, breaking his grip and dissolving all the careful links as everything went black.

* * *

><p><em>That, <em>Hermione thought rather dizzily, _was the strangest thing I've ever done. _She hadn't expected to know what was going on and had been resigned to just standing around wondering until it was finished and Severus could explain, but actually she had been able to sense at least some of what he had been doing. Not everything, not by any means – it had been far too complicated for that – but far more than she had expected to be able to feel. She had been able to sense some of his emotions too, but mostly all he had been feeling was a ferociously intense concentration that had left her a little awed, particularly as time passed and everything he was doing became more and more complex.

He'd been right about the power needed, too. The only time she recalled feeling more drained than this was when she and Poppy had fought so hard to save Severus' life, and that had gone on for days instead of merely hours. And when the Horcrux had been destroyed – at least, she hoped that was what had just happened – the shock of the link dissolving so violently... Shaking it off as best she could, she looked around dizzily. Harry was still unconscious; his eyes had closed and a thin trickle of blood was seeping from his scar but he looked pretty peaceful, actually. Ron and Ginny were steadying one another, both looking tired and shaken. That just left... "Severus!"

She thought for a moment he was unconscious, but he stirred when she said his name and opened his eyes to give her a rather glassy stare as she knelt next to him. His eyes were webbed with broken blood vessels and his nose was bleeding, but aside from being a little paler than usual he seemed all right – at least until he squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his hands to cradle his head, digging his fingers into his temples. "Severus?" she repeated anxiously, and he flinched.

"Please don't talk," he whispered hoarsely, swallowing thickly.

By the look of things he was in the grip of a nasty migraine. That was hardly surprising under the circumstances, she had a headache herself and she hadn't been in the line of fire at the end, but Hermione couldn't really come up with a way to ask if he was all right or if it had worked and if Harry would be all right without actually asking.

She really was very tired, but she could just about manage a non-verbal Summoning charm; if he was in as much pain as he seemed to be, his usual headache relief potion wasn't going to help much, but hopefully it would at least take the edge off so he could give them the minimum information that they needed before she helped him back to their room to sleep off the rest.

Ron and Ginny had apparently heard the brief exchange, since neither of them said anything until Severus had very carefully swallowed a dose of the potion and managed to avoid vomiting it straight back up. Moving very slowly and gingerly, he pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall, still cradling his head carefully in his hands, and Hermione risked a whisper, trying to keep her voice as low as possible.

"Are you hurt?" He obviously wasn't all right, so there was no point asking that. Frankly even if he was injured she wasn't sure she could do anything about it.

"No."

"Did it work?"

"Yes."

Resisting the urge to ask if he was sure about either answer – he wouldn't have said so unless he was sure, after all, and speaking was obviously an effort right now – Hermione sighed in relief, giving him a smile that he was in no condition to appreciate. "Thank God." _And thank you, love. Nobody else could have done what you just did._

"All right," Ginny said conversationally from by the bed, "now we're finished with whatever we just did, I have a few questions. What did we actually just do to Harry, and why? Is he all right? When's he going to wake up? What have you all been doing here since the summer, and why doesn't anyone else in the Order seem to know? Since when have Hermione and Snape been on first name terms? What the _hell _is going on?"

Hermione heard Severus' breath hitch for a moment in stifled laughter before he swallowed a groan of pain; that reaction was enough to tell her his response. Touching his hand gently, she looked around at her friends with a rueful smile before standing and moving away from the migraine sufferer in order to answer.

"Ron will answer everything, Gin. Sorry you had to wait, but you'll understand why this was so important when he's done. I'd let Harry rest for now; I don't know what state he'll be in when he wakes up."

"Everything?" Ron asked, staring at her. "Are you sure?"

Hermione nodded. It was all going to come out eventually, and Ginny was a friend, and Harry had hated keeping anything from her. At least if she found out here, surrounded by allies and away from anyone who might act stupidly, things could be controlled. "Yes, go on. I'll see you downstairs when you're done, if we leave Harry to sleep it off; I just want to make sure Severus is all right first. We can talk about everything once you've filled Ginny in on the main parts."

"Okay. _Is_ he all right?"

"I think so. Are the two of you all right?"

"Yeah, I think we are. That was pretty tiring, and it felt really weird, but I think I'm okay. Gin?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But if someone doesn't tell me what's going on soon, I'm going to get angry."

Hermione smiled ruefully, well aware that this might not end very well and more than happy to let Ron deal with the first fallout. "Fair enough. See you soon."

* * *

><p>Severus made no attempt, verbal or otherwise, to protest when she ordered him to bed; the potion had eased his headache enough to let him move and whisper monosyllables without being sick or passing out, but it didn't seem to have done much more and he was obviously in pain and exhausted. She sat on the bed beside him as he settled down, absently twining her fingers through his. "I know you hate me fussing, but are you really all right?" she asked as softly as possible.<p>

"Apart from a headache that feels like a combination of every hangover I have ever had and every fight I have ever been in, and probably not enough power left to light a candle, I'm fine," he mumbled thickly. "Just need to rest." His lips twitched. "You'll have to wait for an explanation..."

"Oh, shut up. I'm not that bad." She squeezed his hand gently. "I could feel some of it, anyway. You were... incredible, Severus. That was amazing." He smiled briefly and squeezed back, settling deeper into the pillow with a sigh and relaxing. "Will Harry be all right?" she asked.

"Don't know. Probably."

"Fair enough. And you don't mind Ginny finding out about us?"

"No."

"Okay." She lifted his hand and kissed his bony knuckles gently. "No more questions, I promise. I'll let you get some rest. God knows you've earned it."

* * *

><p>It was quite a while before she finally heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up from her tea as Ginny appeared in the kitchen doorway. Her friend didn't have much expression on her face, which was either a very good sign or a very bad one; Hermione really wasn't sure how this was going to play out. She liked Ginny, but she wasn't as close to the other girl as she was to Harry or Ron and couldn't predict her reactions so easily. "Where's Ron?" she asked carefully.<p>

"I ordered him to stay upstairs. Girl talk has nothing to do with him." Ginny looked at her steadily for a moment, then grinned suddenly and came to make herself some tea. "Don't panic. I promise, no hexes. I don't think I could manage anything big anyway, and if I hex you I'll never find out what's going on, will I?"

Relieved, she grinned back. "Didn't Ron tell you?"

"Only the basics. You know my brother, Hermione – what did you think he'd be able to say? The basic summary was, 'they're together and it's weird and they're really quite scary sometimes'. After he told me all the stuff about the Horcruxes, anyway. That's just strange... there were all these bits of You-Know-Who's soul around, and nobody knew?"

"Dumbledore did." Hermione paused. "What did he say to you about the diary, after it was over?"

"Not much, to be honest. That I was safe now and it wouldn't happen again, and that now I'd know to be more careful, and that I'd done well under the circumstances. I was too freaked out to ask for details anyway."

"Fair enough. I don't know if he knew what was happening then or not, anyway, but I think he worked it out not too long afterwards. He must have known for years, I think."

"Does Harry know that?"

"I'm not sure. We haven't said specifically that we think he knew for a very long time. I didn't want to hurt him when it doesn't really matter now Dumbledore's dead. He's probably worked it out for himself, but I think as long as nobody says anything, he can pretend."

"That sounds like him. I'll see if he wants to talk later. Once I've endured all his apologies over not telling me earlier, anyway," Ginny added, smiling in a way that told Hermione she knew her boyfriend very well indeed. "It's not as if I'm not used to it by now. I can't wait until my birthday. And he was nowhere near as annoying about it as Mum is." She sat back and put her mug down. "So. You and Snape?"

"Yes."

"..._Why?_"

Hermione couldn't help but smile; it was a fair question, really, since Severus was so hard to figure out and so good at hiding his real self from everyone. "Because actually he's pretty amazing, once you get to know him," she replied simply. "He's nothing like the man he pretends to be. Well, not much, anyway. Did Ron tell you how I started spending more time with him?"

"Sort of. He's rubbish at explaining anything, you know that, but he told me you've been training to be a Healer and saw a lot of Snape when he got hurt being a Death Eater, and that you went jogging together once you'd stopped hating each other. And that he was trying to help you teach Harry Occlumency."

"Yes. It did take a while, but gradually I started to see bits of what he was really like underneath. He's not what you think, Gin."

"Well, I should hope not," her friend replied matter-of-factly, "because I _think _he's a vicious, spiteful bastard."

Despite herself, Hermione started laughing. "He can be, yes. It wasn't all an act. But under the vicious spiteful bastard is a rather wonderful man, actually. He's clever and funny and protective and brave, and he can be really sweet and gentle sometimes – as long as nobody else is looking, anyway," she added ruefully, smiling fondly.

"Hmm," Ginny said sceptically. "I'll take your word for it. Was Ron winding me up when he said you were engaged?"

"No." She held out her hand so the ring could be duly admired. "He asked on my birthday."

"That sounds weirdly romantic, for Snape."

"It wasn't quite as romantic as it sounds," Hermione said dryly, smiling at the memory. "Neither of us are very good at romance, really."

"I guess that's true. You never really seemed the hearts and flowers type." Ginny shook her head. "This is weird, though, Hermione."

"I know, believe me. It took me quite a while to get used to the idea. It took quite a bit longer before anything actually happened, too. He wasn't any more certain about things than I was."

"Really?"

She drew out the word, and Hermione started laughing again. "That's _not _what I meant! I don't mean... that. It was the emotional side we had a few problems with at first. He's got some real self-esteem problems, and you know I'm not exactly confident when it comes to – well, anything that involves people instead of books."

"I suppose so," Ginny agreed. "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely," she replied without hesitation.

After a long moment her friend grinned. "Okay, then. I have to admit I'll be interested to see what happens with the two of you. Who else knows?"

"A few people, actually. Madam Pomfrey saw it coming before either of us did, I think. We've told Professor McGonagall, who told your mum. She might have told your dad, I'm not sure – I've not seen him, really. And Harry and Ron kind of had to find out, really, with us all living in the same house."

"This is a pretty horrible place. Snape really lives here?"

"It's a long story. To be honest I don't really notice how grim it is here any more."

"If you say so." Abruptly Ginny's grin turned absolutely wicked. "I've got to ask, Hermione. I'll never forgive myself if I don't. What's he like?"

They both collapsed, laughing helplessly. Hermione could feel herself blushing as she replied breathlessly, "None of your business! But I will say I have absolutely no complaints. And for Christ's sake don't tell me anything about Harry. I really do not need to know."

"You're no fun. But while we're on the subject... do you think I can get away with making Ron come to sleep down here tonight?"

"I feel I should point out that we're all exhausted, and Harry's still unconscious." She shook her head, smiling. "If you're careful, you'll be fine. Severus won't say or do anything unless one of you provokes him. Don't make a production out of it – and don't forget silencing spells – and you should be fine. I don't think he'll be in any fit state to take any notice anyway; he's completely drained and has a vicious migraine."

"So, what, you're going to go and tuck him in and give him a goodnight kiss?"

"Something like that. Be careful, though, Gin, okay? I don't mind you teasing me, you're not mean enough to go too far, but if he overhears you he's going to lose his temper. Severus really doesn't like being talked about, no matter how harmless. He tolerates the boys, but if they overstep the line he goes back to the scary Professor we all hated."

"And you actually like it, don't you? You perverted minx."

"Shut up, Ginny."

* * *

><p>It had been a very, very long day. Once she had finally paid attention to the clock, Hermione had been surprised to find that the isolation and destruction of the final Horcrux had taken over four hours; no wonder they had all been so tired. They had left Harry asleep; the spell would wear off sometime before morning, and it wouldn't harm him to sleep until then. Severus had slept for a while out of sheer exhaustion; he had woken up with a headache still, but nothing like the vicious pain that had rendered him immobile earlier, and he had managed to limp downstairs for some food before retreating back to bed.<p>

Hermione had sat downstairs and chatted to Ron and Ginny for a while before turning a blind eye to the latter sneaking off upstairs; helping Ron Transfigure the sofa into a makeshift bed, she wished him goodnight at last and went upstairs herself. Severus woke up briefly when she slid into bed beside him, sleepily moving over to give her space before cuddling against her back in his usual place, wrapping his arm around her waist and going straight back to sleep again. Nestling into the familiar contours of his body, she closed her eyes and relaxed, falling asleep almost completely free of any worry or stress for the first time in months.

* * *

><p><em>That was fun, wasn't it, folks? I did take out some of the nerdiness before I got too carried away. But only some, because I really love stuff like this. You might have noticed before that I rather like mental magic. Anyway, I have a couple of announcements:<br>_

_A few people may have noticed that FFN appears to be cracking down on M rated stories. Don't panic. If - IF, mind, let's not get carried away here - _if _any of my fics do get deleted, I have a number of possible alternative places to post and I will of course let you all know immediately. I will also re-upload a slightly less explicit version of any deleted fics here. Until then I'm going to continue on here as I always have, on the basis that they've never had a problem with me before.  
><em>

_In fact, some people have had their actual accounts deleted, not just stories. If this ever happens, check my deviantArt - loten dot deviantart dot com - where I shall post to let everyone know what's going on and where I will be moving to.  
><em>

_I'm also going to be on holiday next week, from the 11th to the 15th. I will try to update again before I go but it may not happen. We'll see.  
><em>


	56. Chapter 56

_I'm back in the real world, a year older and absolutely not any wiser! Thank you all for the lovely messages. Sorry this is later than scheduled, real life decided to rear its ugly head again.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed<strong>  
><strong>I strove against the stream and all in vain<strong>  
><strong>Let the great river take me to the main<strong>  
><strong>No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield<strong>  
><strong>Ask me no more."<strong>  
>– Alfred, Lord Tennyson.<p>

* * *

><p>Her headache had gone when she woke up, and given how tired she had been last night, Hermione felt pretty damned good, all things considered. Still a little tired magically, perhaps – she certainly wouldn't want to repeat anything on that scale for a while – but nothing serious. She let her thoughts wander back to yesterday; it had been unlike anything she had ever done before. The closest thing she had to compare it to was Healing, actually, when she and Poppy had both been working on Severus; occasionally their magic had touched as they worked. But it hadn't been quite the same as yesterday. With Severus in control of things, she hadn't been able to sense much, but there had been a faint awareness of all her friends, a sense of unity and purpose, all shaped by her partner's remarkable stubborn force of will.<p>

Severus himself was still dead to the world, so she took the chance to very carefully roll over on her half of the narrow bed without disturbing him. Settling down again, she watched him sleeping, something she didn't get to see very often given what a light sleeper he usually was, smiling to herself as her eyes traced his familiar features.

He wasn't a handsome man by any stretch of the imagination, she admitted as she watched him. His hair never looked clean no matter what he did, he was too thin, his teeth were crooked and his hooked nose was too big. She couldn't care less, because if you looked past that, underneath it all was an absolutely incredible man. Yesterday... on the surface, it had seemed fairly simple once the idea was in place, but she had felt enough to appreciate the concentration and focus it must have taken to hold so many things in perfect balance for long enough to do what they had done. The intensity she had felt from him was awe-inspiring, and she didn't know anyone else who could possibly have done it.

Using the Elder Wand had been interesting too, she reflected. It had felt far less frightening with Severus also in control, and she had to admit it had been exciting to handle that much power. She still didn't much like the feel of it compared to her usual vine wand, and she didn't plan to keep it after the war was done, but it didn't scare her the way it had. It had helped her feel how her magic could work with his, too; since neither of them were truly compatible with the wand she had been able to sense their magic separately. That was definitely something she wanted to research someday, how they could work together and what sort of things they might be able to achieve.

Severus' breathing changed, distracting her, and she smiled a little guiltily as his eyelashes fluttered before he opened one eye and gave her a not very impressed look. His eyes were still slightly bloodshot, but he looked a lot better than he had done yesterday. "What are you staring at me for?" he mumbled sleepily.

"I like staring at you. You're just going to have to put up with it."

"Hmph." Closing his eyes again, he rolled onto his back; suppressing a smile, she scooted across the bed to nestle against his side, resting her head on his chest as his arm settled around her shoulders.

"How's your headache?"

"Gone, luckily. That hurt a _lot. _Still, it could have been worse."

"I felt the edge of it before everything broke apart. It was pretty intense."

"If I weren't an Occlumens, it could have been interesting," he agreed, yawning and falling into his usual habit of idly playing with her hair. He usually ended up tangling it worse than it already was, but she never had the heart to stop him.

Snuggling closer, she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear, absently tracing a scar with one finger. "You did something amazing yesterday, Severus," she said quietly. "You saved the Chosen One's life – not for the first time – and you made it possible for us to defeat the Dark Lord. And most people will never know, will they? Even if we told everyone, people wouldn't believe it and wouldn't care. Doesn't it bother you?"

"No."

"Why?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

His black eyes were calm. "Why would it? I've never been a hero, Hermione. I've never wanted to be. When I changed sides, my one condition was that Dumbledore kept his mouth shut. People don't like me. I'm not a likeable person. I don't want people suddenly pretending to like me just because I've done something impressive. I lost all interest in being popular when I was very young, when I realised it would never be sincere, and I have been used to being disliked for a very long time. I genuinely don't care what most people think of me; there are very few people in the world whose opinion actually matters to me, and they'll know what happened here. Everyone else can go hang themselves for all I care; I didn't do this for them, after all."

"Well. I think you're a hero. Just so you know."

He closed his eyes, attempting to look bored with the conversation, but she had seen the flicker of almost surprised pleasure before he hid it. "Silly girl."

Smiling, Hermione ignored this and stretched to kiss him. "I mean it." He kissed her back, probably as much to shut her up as because he actually wanted to, and she closed her eyes as the kiss deepened, losing herself in the familiar taste and feel of his mouth as his hands began to wander. Shifting until she was mostly lying on top of him, she relaxed into his kisses, shivering pleasurably as she felt him growing harder beneath her before breaking away to help him remove the oversized t-shirt she had slept in.

"It's nice to have your full attention again," Severus murmured against her neck, kissing the sensitive spot below her ear as his fingers caressed her breast. "You've been rather distracted with stress recently."

Letting him roll them both over, she buried her fingers in his hair and arched up against him. "I know. I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," he replied absently, clearly more interested in nibbling along her collarbone. "Your best friend's life was at stake. You wouldn't be _you _if you weren't worried."

"I don't want you feeling neglected, though," she murmured, wrapping her leg around his thigh and shivering as the stubble on his jaw scratched pleasantly against her skin.

He chuckled softly and lightly tweaked her nipple before lowering his head to tease it with his tongue. "Don't be absurd. I intend to claim you all for myself soon enough; I'm willing to wait until we've got this minor irritation of a war over with. If you do neglect me in future without a good excuse, I shall let you know."

"Fair enough." Closing her eyes, she ran her hands slowly down his back as his fingers slipped between her legs, tracing the familiar pattern of slick scar tissue and feeling the long muscles flex as he held himself above her. His breath was warm against her skin before his mouth found hers once more, his hips shifting against hers in a familiar teasing rolling motion that made her squirm under him.

His tongue slid into her mouth at the same moment as he entered her, and she lightly dug her nails into his shoulders as she arched to meet his slow thrusts. He was right, she did feel able to pay more attention now that she wasn't sick with worry about everything; okay, they still needed to get rid of Voldemort, but that didn't really seem so important compared to what they had already done. Besides, she couldn't see it being that difficult for Severus, given everything else her amazing man had achieved. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she kissed him again, moaning into his mouth as they moved together.

As her pleasure built she broke the kiss to try and catch her breath, freeing one hand from his hair and slowly dragging one fingernail down his spine with just enough pressure to make him groan and arch his back; she had discovered this particular weakness of his entirely by accident. His low growl made her shiver in pleasure as he shifted his weight and began to move a little more vigorously, both of them beginning to breathe raggedly before she gasped his name and shuddered, right on the edge.

He moved his mouth to her ear, tracing the rim with his tongue before whispering, "Go on, let me feel you..." and the sound of his voice was enough to send her over, biting at his shoulder to muffle her cries; a moment later he cried out softly in answer and shuddered with his own climax.

Catching her breath in the aftermath, Hermione stretched lazily and settled more comfortably against his side, resting her head on his chest once more. "I can't remember the last time I woke up not worrying about something."

Severus chuckled softly, relaxing against the pillows. "Not that I particularly want to crush your good mood – I don't remember the last time you woke up not worrying about something either – but I feel I should point out we're far from finished. There's still the small matter of the Dark Lord and his army."

"I know that, misery," she retorted, thinking about lifting her head to scowl at him and deciding she couldn't be bothered. Settling for poking him in the ribs instead, she snuggled closer. "After yesterday, though, it doesn't seem as serious as it did before. I mean, if we can do _that, _we can deal with him."

"As simple as that, hmm?" he asked mockingly; she could hear his smile in his voice. "I do take your point, though. There is something rather euphoric about doing something nobody thought could be done." His tone became curious. "Just how much could you sense?"

"Umm. It's hard to describe. I couldn't follow the specifics of what you were doing, but I got a general impression of it. I don't think the others felt as much as I did."

"That would make sense, I suppose. You are far more familiar with my magic and my mind than they are, and there were more links between the two of us than anyone else in the circle."

She nodded against his chest. "I think if we'd been doing something less strenuous I might have been able to catch some of your thoughts, but all I could really pick up was concentration. You are scarily single-minded sometimes, you know."

"I've had to be," he agreed quietly. "Being aware of anything that might distract me could have proved fatal more times than I can possibly recall. I learned to block out everything that wasn't relevant to the task at hand."

Idly, she began tracing random patterns over his sparse chest hair with one finger. "I think it's part of what made you such a scary teacher," she teased gently. "Being on the receiving end of such a disturbingly _focused _glare was extremely intimidating." Nowadays, of course, she had discovered a lot of advantages to being on the receiving end of such focused attention, she reflected with a happy shiver.

"That was rather the point," he retorted; she could hear that he was smirking, and he had probably guessed where her thoughts were drifting. "I don't recall this supposed fear of me ever stopping you from doing something you shouldn't have done, either," he added, not without justification. Poking him in the ribs again and suppressing a smile, she returned to what they were supposed to be talking about.

"I felt it at the end, too. You were protecting us all from that backlash, weren't you?"

"I know that tone. Don't scold me. Of course I was – how else could we have survived it relatively unscathed? Your shields aren't anywhere near strong enough yet, and none of the others have any. Besides, I was the one in control of the circle."

"You assured me there was no risk."

"I did no such thing," Severus responded mildly. "I assured you that I _thought _it was safe. I also made a point of telling you that I wasn't totally sure what might happen."

"Hmph. So what caused it? Was it the energy given off when a Horcrux is destroyed, translated into mental and metaphysical terms?"

"In all honesty, I'm not quite sure. I was very tired at that point and working on instinct; I wasn't really thinking clearly. I believe it was partly that, and partly Potter's mind rebelling against _all _invasive presences, both the Horcrux and us."

"It did work, though?"

"You felt it almost as powerfully as I did. Don't start worrying about things we've already done, Hermione, for God's sake," he chided her affectionately. "It worked, and I imagine Potter will be fine once he sees fit to rejoin us."

"Is he going to be any different? I know some of the things he could do came from the Horcrux, like his being a Parselmouth..."

"I'm not sure about that specifically, but his magic was shaped by the Horcrux as it developed, so I believe the damage has been done, for lack of a better phrase. He will be a little weaker for a while, as I was when I removed my Dark Mark, but his body will compensate quickly and as far as I know he'll unfortunately be the same as ever, although perhaps a little more psychologically stable. Lucky sod," he added dryly, and she stifled a giggle at his wry tone. "It's hard to say anything for certain. This has never happened before, after all."

"Fair enough. I suppose we'll have to wait and see." She yawned and nestled closer. "So what's your plan for how we defeat the Dark Lord?"

"What?"

"Don't even try it, Severus," she told him, laughing softly and turning her head to kiss his shoulder. "You've been planning this final fight for decades. And I know you've got some sort of plan in that tricky Slytherin mind of yours."

After a pause, he relaxed with a soft huff of amusement and wound his fingers into her hair. "You're giving me too much credit, I'm afraid. I don't have a specific plan yet, although I won't deny I've thought about it quite a lot. I have a few possible ideas, but nothing concrete."

"Okay."

"Do I assume from the rather suspicious silence outside that Weasley has been sulking downstairs all night and that Potter might be in a good mood this morning?" he asked archly after a few minutes, and she laughed softly.

"I'm afraid so. I decided it was easier to tell Ginny to go ahead than for her to sneak up later. You don't mind, do you?"

"It's nothing to do with me. But remind me to burn that mattress once everyone moves out. And don't tell Molly I allowed it or I will never hear the end of it."

* * *

><p>By the time Hermione and Severus made it downstairs, they found that Ginny had been the first one awake; she had gone and kicked Ron awake with the love and concern only a younger sister can show and between them they had managed a fair attempt at breakfast. That was probably just as well; everyone was magically drained to some extent by yesterday's exertions and likely to be ravenously hungry. Harry in particular was quiet and focused on eating half his body weight in bacon and eggs, but nobody seemed very talkative as they ate.<p>

Ginny had been sneaking looks around the table throughout the meal, particularly at Severus, and Hermione wasn't surprised when the temptation finally proved too much and her friend lifted her head and opened her mouth to say something. She watched in some amusement as Severus gave the redhead a look; he wasn't glaring or scowling, it wasn't threatening in any way, but something about the steady regard of those black eyes had Ginny meekly closing her mouth again and looking back at her food. Hermione had been on the receiving end of that stare many times over the past couple of years; it really wasn't a threatening look, it simply implied that whatever you were about to say had better be important.

Ron was trying not to laugh. "You _have _to teach Dad how to shut Ginny up like that."

Severus looked amused as he returned his attention to his toast. "I have nothing but respect for Arthur Weasley, but he would be hard pressed to intimidate a damp tissue, let alone his teenage daughter."

"I wasn't intimidated," Ginny protested. It might have been more believable if she wasn't blushing and avoiding eye contact as she said it, and even Harry laughed, although he was obviously trying to be a loyal boyfriend and not mock her.

"Of course you weren't," Hermione said dryly.

Ginny looked at her brother. "She's even starting to sound like him."

"It's creepy, isn't it," Ron agreed cheerfully. "You get used to it after a while. And once you realise just how scarily alike they are, it starts making more sense."

"Enough, both of you," Severus said in the weary growl that Hermione recognised as his _I-haven't-had-enough-coffee-for-this _voice. "Anything to report, Potter? Strange dreams – once you eventually made it to natural sleep – or odd feelings?"

Obviously barely resisting the urge to comment on the slight hypocrisy of that remark, Harry swallowed another laugh and did his best to behave as he shook his head. "Nope, absolutely nothing. My scar feels a bit sore after everything that happened yesterday, but it's not prickling or anything and my dreams were normal. I can't feel a thing from him."

He sounded so happy that Hermione couldn't help but smile, before his grin faded and he began to look really awkward, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "Uh... Sir, I just wanted to say..."

"Oh, do shut up, Potter," Severus told him, giving him a look of complete disgust. "Neither of us needs an embarrassing scene." He never had liked being thanked for anything; it was one of the things Hermione hadn't managed to puzzle out yet.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Okay. Anyway, it's all lovely and peaceful. I didn't really feel anything from him while it was happening, either. I don't think he noticed anything happening."

"What could you feel?" Hermione asked curiously. "You were asleep."

"I know, but I was sort of thinking at the same time, a bit like one of those dreams where you know you're dreaming and you're watching the dream happen, you know? It's all a bit vague but I could sort of feel you all... pushing him out, almost. Then I really did go to sleep after a while and I don't remember anything else."

"Probably just as well," Severus noted. "I imagine it would have been extremely painful. Were you in pain when you came round?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "Oh, yeah. I had a really horrible headache."

"You're out of headache potion, by the way," Ron said. "Ginny took the last of it for Harry yesterday."

"Thanks, Ron," his sister told him sourly, glancing rather uncertainly at Severus. _Not intimidated, indeed, _Hermione thought in some amusement.

Severus only shrugged. "It's quick to brew and I still have all the ingredients, I think. If not, I have Muggle painkillers. I don't anticipate us all needing it at once again. Besides, we'll be heading to Grimmauld Place later to tell the Order that the unnecessarily secret mission is complete and they can actually do something productive now. I suppose we'll be staying there until some sort of plan has been drawn up," he said distantly.

"You didn't plan this far?" Harry asked.

"I didn't expect to live this long."

Hermione broke the silence that followed this remark by observing mildly, "And this is why you don't try to talk to him first thing in the morning. He's even worse than usual."

* * *

><p>Given how tired everyone still was – and how little sleep most of them had had – it wasn't until after lunch that they returned to Grimmauld Place. Once there, they split up; Ginny and Ron went to see Percy, and Harry didn't seem inclined to leave his girlfriend even for a few minutes – Hermione wasn't sure he'd realised that Severus wasn't going to let Ginny stay with them permanently, if they ended up returning to Spinner's End at all.<p>

"What now?" she asked her lover, keeping her voice down to avoid disturbing Mrs Black's portrait.

He shrugged. "I need to track Minerva down and tell her what's happened, and why. I'm not going to be telling anyone else. It didn't occur to me at the time, but we have absolutely no proof of anything we've done, with Dumbledore dead. I rather foolishly destroyed the memories he left."

"I don't blame you for that. We were both upset."

"In any case, we have no way of proving any of this, so it's easier not to say anything much except that we've removed the things that made the Dark Lord immortal and broken his link to Potter. I'm not going to go into detail for anyone except Minerva, and I wouldn't even tell her if I could avoid it because she's going to realise that Dumbledore knew all along."

"It's not going to be a fun conversation, is it?"

"It won't be too bad. She won't say anything about it. We've never had the kind of relationship that involved any discussion of feelings beyond mutual irritation and I really have had all the emotional heart-to-hearts I can stand."

"Harry wants to thank you," she chided him gently. "That's not a bad thing."

"Easy for you to say," he retorted. "Besides, after everything we've all seen and done and everything that's happened... trying to say 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry' for any of it is just absurd. It's better to let sleeping dogs lie."

"I suppose so," she conceded. "Do you want me there?"

"It's up to you. I doubt it's going to be very interesting – you know it all already, after all. Besides," he added, his eyes dancing, "you bite your lip every time you hear me tell an outright lie."

"I do not!" Hermione protested automatically, before thinking about it. "Do I?"

He smirked at her. "Yes."

"Well, damn."

"You don't do it when _you _lie any more," he offered mildly.

"Stop teasing, Severus, or I'll come with you and sit and hold your hand just to make Professor McGonagall laugh at you."

"Fair enough. I'll see you later, then."

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't remotely surprised when Severus matter-of-factly let himself into her bedroom that night, merely moving over to give him room to slide into bed beside her without comment. Most of the adults in the house already knew about them by now anyway.<p>

"Good evening," she remarked dryly, and heard his soft huff of laughter as he settled comfortably against her back.

"Hello."

Stretching lazily, she snuggled back against him as his arm settled around her waist. "It's nice to have a bit more space," she commented absently. "I like being curled up like this, but at least in a bigger bed I don't have to worry about ending up on the floor every time I roll over."

"You could have Transfigured it if you were that bothered," he pointed out.

"I thought about it, but it didn't feel right. I mean, it's your room. I didn't want to change anything."

Severus snorted with laughter. "For God's sake, Hermione, you could blow the place up and I wouldn't care. Paint bright pink and blue ponies on the walls if you like. Nothing on this earth will make me like that house; do what you want with it. Hopefully we won't be there much longer."

"I was never a pink-pony sort of girl. You should have changed at least some things, though, Severus. Have you altered _anything_ since your parents died?"

"Yes," he said a little defensively. "I replaced some of the furniture. And put the bathroom in, such as it is." He sighed against the back of her neck. "I know it's not healthy, and I probably shouldn't have stayed there as long as I have, but... I didn't see the point, to be honest. I spent most of the year at Hogwarts anyway, and why bother redecorating if I was the only one who would see it? Why bother moving when I was so rarely there?"

"It might have helped with your nightmares..."

"Some of them, perhaps, but frankly the dreams about my childhood are far less draining than the Death Eater nightmares."

She wasn't sure what to say to that, truthfully, and they lay curled up in comfortable silence for a while; she could tell from the loosely relaxed feel of his body that the conversation wasn't bothering him, and it was probably easier to talk about this subject away from Spinner's End. "How bad was it?" she asked finally, quietly.

"I don't have a scale for these things. It was... bad. But it could have been worse." He shifted and settled more comfortably, sounding more thoughtful than anything else. "You need to understand, Hermione, it was depressingly normal. A lot of the other children on the estate were in similar circumstances – you've seen what the neighbourhood is like. I grew up that way; I was probably about seven before I began to understand that other children didn't live the way I and my neighbours did. We were all horrifyingly poor, and my father wasn't the only man unable to cope with the shame of not being able to provide for his family and of feeling like a failure. I didn't really see anything wrong with what was happening for a long time, because I didn't know anything else."

Hermione took a breath and bit the bullet. "Your father hit you."

"Yes. Frequently. And he was worse to my mother." He breathed out slowly. "He was a true alcoholic, worse than I ever was, and he was naturally predisposed to be a mean drunk anyway. I adapted. I learned to stay out of his way when I could, and how to avoid making it worse when I couldn't."

"You don't sound angry."

"I'm not, really, not any more. I used to be, for a very long time, but the first war knocked much of it out of me and pushed the rest down out of the way. I didn't have time to have issues with my dead father, not when I was too busy dealing with the fallout from the Dark Lord's issues with _his _father," he added dryly. "I grew up, Hermione. I saw enough of life to appreciate what might have driven my father to become what he did. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. Under the circumstances... Times were hard. Harder than you can imagine, I think, with your background. There were times when we couldn't even afford food, or heating. There was nothing my father could do – whatever else I can say about him, he tried his best to find work. There simply was none to be had. He couldn't provide for us, couldn't fulfil his role as head of the family, and it turned him sour. He took it out on us because there was no other target." He paused, then added more thoughtfully, "That makes me sound as though I've adjusted to it. I haven't. I hate him and I will never forgive him, and it forms a significant part of my anger issues. But I do understand at least something of why it happened, and I can deal with it."

"Did Lily know how bad it was?"

"No. I refused to let her see where I lived, and I was frightened of what might happen if I took her home to meet my parents. She knew we were very poor, and that my father had a temper, but nothing more than that. She was too young to work it out, although I'm certain her parents suspected."

"Did Social Services exist back then?"

"I truly have no idea. It wouldn't have mattered if they did, though – nobody would have reported it. Half the families on the estate were in the same situation, and even the ones that weren't... we didn't trust the officials, anyone connected with the police or the government, not when they had let things fall apart so completely. Even the midwives and nurses weren't really welcome. We fended for ourselves. It was a strange time by normal standards, but again, I didn't know anything else."

"Just how bad was it?"

Hermione lay quietly for a while, trying to imagine what Severus was describing as he spoke of how the factory and the mill had closed and all available employment had suddenly vanished. Nobody could find a job and nobody could earn any money. He told her about some of the children he played with dying of simple sicknesses that shouldn't have killed them because they were too ill-nourished to survive it, about learning to steal during the worst times, about the wives gathering together to swap old clothes back and forth to try and find things they could re-use and trading between themselves – his mother had sometimes exchanged 'herbal medicines' for food or clothing, at least in the early years.

He had grown accustomed to never being clean; none of the other children were either, and none of them had clothes that fit or that were free of holes and tears, even if his did normally look more outlandish. He had grown used to almost always being cold and hungry, and stopped really noticing it. He hadn't paid much attention to the contrast between himself and Lily and Petunia; it hadn't been until going to Hogwarts that he had really realised how skinny and stunted he was. He had taken the lack of money for granted, calmly accepting the lack of – well, everything, really. Much of his early advanced knowledge of magic was simply because his mother's old spellbooks had been the only thing to read in the entire house and they couldn't afford anything as luxurious as books. He had been one of the only children in the street who could read at all, and the Muggle school he had sporadically and reluctantly attended had barely deserved the name.

What he was describing stunned her; if he had been describing life in early Victorian England, she could have understood it, but this was the 1960s he was talking about. She had had no idea such poverty-stricken conditions had still existed that late, not that she had ever really thought about it before. "I feel so horribly middle-class," she said finally, and he chuckled softly.

"Don't start feeling guilty about _this, _insufferable Gryffindor," he told her affectionately, tightening his arm around her waist. "This was decades before you were born. And it wasn't talked about – there were no charity fundraisers, no concerned celebrities reporting on the television. Nobody paid any attention. We were too busy surviving to care what anyone else thought, and the rest of the country was busy recovering from the world wars and the end of rationing and moving into the technological revolution. It wasn't so bad for me. I was pretty tough – I never even took ill, except for the usual bouts of chicken pox and measles and whooping cough and all the other traditional childhood blessings. No vaccinations then, you see. I had no siblings to share what little food and clothing we had. Even the abuse wasn't so bad, compared to what could have happened. A boy in the next street died because of what his father did to him. And I learned to survive. I wouldn't be here now if I had had a different upbringing."

"It wasn't all right, Severus." His accepting attitude was worse than everything he had described, somehow.

"No, it wasn't. But it didn't kill me. I'd rather not wallow in it; I've got plenty of other damage to worry about. My father was a drunken wreck whose only measure of control over his own life came from beating up his wife and son; it's not a new or unique story and it seemed normal to me. If I had suddenly been placed in that situation it would have messed me up far more than it actually has. It's just one scar amongst many."

"I suppose so," she agreed sadly, shifting away from him to roll over before cuddling close against his chest as his arms settled around her once more. "But... what about your mother? How could she let it happen?"

Severus was silent for a few minutes before replying. "Remember what Dumbledore told Potter about Merope Gaunt," he said finally. "I can't be certain, but I believe my mother was in very much the same situation. I don't think she was ever a particularly strong woman, and I'm certain she suffered very heavily with depression, worse than my own. The Prince family were in decline and I doubt they were much better off than the Snapes at that point. The life I just described to you made me angry, but it wore her down. She was very unhappy, and she simply didn't have the spirit to fight back."

"She could still do magic, couldn't she?"

"...Yes," he answered rather doubtfully, "but she very rarely did. Sometimes the odd bit of housework, when it got too bad for her to ignore any longer. Once or twice she taught me some small thing I could practice to try and keep my emerging power under control. I know she had no skill at Healing, and to my knowledge she never tried to defend herself by using magic against my father. She certainly never used it to protect me."

"You told me in Gringotts you don't know why they married..." she said tentatively. Severus still seemed all right with talking about this, but he couldn't quite hide the faint traces of old pain in his voice; she wasn't sure he was even aware of it.

"No, I really have no idea. I know he knew she was a witch before they married, and I know she wasn't pregnant. I suppose they must have loved one another once, at least after a fashion; I really couldn't say. Something must have made my father overlook his distrust of magic, and God knows my mother had no wealth or looks to attract him. I don't remember any signs of anything even vaguely resembling affection, or anything more benign than tolerance between them, but I may just not remember accurately. For all I know everything was wonderful until I was born, but I suspect that had that been the case my father would have informed me quite frequently. I don't know why she stayed with him instead of returning to the wizarding world, either."

"Do you have any other family?"

"No. Both my parents were only children with no siblings, so I never had any aunts or uncles or cousins. My maternal grandparents died before I was born, and my father's parents died when I was quite young. I'm sure I'm distantly related to quite a few pureblood families through the Prince line, but I've never bothered to find out." His tone lightened. "If we go for a church wedding, my side is going to be rather empty."

Despite herself, she smiled. "Well, that will keep the guest list down, I suppose." Her smile faded. "It sounds so lonely, Severus. Were there no happy times at all?"

He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. "...Well, I do have one good memory of my father. Only one, though. I was six years old, and he took me to one of the nicer pubs in a different part of town, one of the very few with a television, so we could watch the World Cup final..."

Hermione lifted her head to give him an incredulous look. "You like _football?_" That was an image to make her head ache.

Severus grinned at her tone. "I was six years old," he repeated, "and England were playing in the final of the World Cup. Of _course _I liked football. I assure you, I grew out of it quite quickly. Anyway, we watched the match together. I suspect this story would not have a happy ending if England had lost, but I remember him carrying me home on his shoulders, with a lot of his friends around us. I remember them teaching me the words to quite a few football chants and songs that a six year old definitely shouldn't know, too," he added dryly.

"I think you're going to have to show me the memory of that at some point," she decided, smiling at him. "That sounds positively adorable." He rolled his eyes in response, and she rested her head on his chest again. "What about your mother?"

"It's hard to say, really. Initially I was too young to understand her, and later I was too angry. She was always rather distant – emotional issues seem to be a family trait. We never really bonded the way I understand children are supposed to bond with their mothers. I wouldn't be surprised to learn she had post-natal depression in addition to everything else, but I don't know enough about it to be sure. She looked after me as best she could, up to a point, but I largely had to fend for myself. I remember a few odd things – her teaching me to read and write, for example – but we more or less lived separate lives." He started playing with her hair; she could feel him loosely winding the curls around his fingers.

"It was better after I got my Hogwarts letter – my father was pleased that I would be out of the house for most of each year and wouldn't need feeding, and that they would get a little money from whatever was left out of the fund Hogwarts provided for my school supplies, and that he wouldn't have to put up with my increasing displays of _freakishness, _as he called it. In turn, my mother was pleased because he was pleased; with me gone, things would be less tense at home. She seemed to wake up a bit and shake off some of her apathy, and she'd tell me stories from her schooldays. Trying to prepare me, I suppose; I remember her warning me that if I ended up in Slytherin I wouldn't be very popular because they would know I wasn't a pureblood from my name. But she told me less frightening stories too, about the lessons and so on. It wasn't all bad."

"Well, I'm glad about that, anyway." She nestled closer, resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder comfortably. "I don't know much about things like this. I don't really understand how anyone could treat their own family that way, even with all the difficult circumstances."

"Nor do I," Severus said quietly after a moment's pause. "I spent a lot of time trying to work out why, and I never found an answer. I've seen a lot of cases of abuse since I became a teacher, too – Slytherin has always had the highest number of students from abusive backgrounds. In most instances, there doesn't seem to be a reason that could possibly justify it. Sometimes bad things just happen. I'm just thankful that for all my problems, I didn't turn out like that."

That faint trace of old residual hurt was still in his voice, but she could tell that mostly it genuinely didn't bother him very much any more. That was good, at least, but... Hermione suppressed a sigh. If Hogwarts had just paid a little more attention, he could have been looked after slightly better, and he would have been so much less damaged now. This all explained so much about him, his prickly defensiveness, his reluctance to show his real feelings, his inability to accept that anyone could possibly love him. Then again, as he had said, he wouldn't be here now without that early experience to toughen him – and he wouldn't be _Severus _without it.

"What would your parents think of me, if they were alive?" she asked finally, curiously. He hadn't really been able to give her much of an idea of what they had been like.

He thought about it, finally laughing softly. "My father would have absolutely hated you."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. He never did like anyone smarter than he was – which gave him a lot of people to choose from. He would also have thought, quite accurately, that you were far too good for me and well out of my league," he added dryly; she could hear in his voice that he was smiling slightly. "You would have made him feel like a stupid thug just by being better educated than he was, and he would have hated you for it." He paused and added more thoughtfully, "As for my mother, I'm not sure. I think she would have liked you, but I don't really know."

Hermione nodded, snuggling deeper under the blankets. "Well, you're safe from most of my family," she offered. "Apart from my parents, none of them know I'm a witch, and we don't really see them often. I promise never to drag you to a huge family reunion."

"Thank you," he replied mockingly, but she suspected there was genuine relief under the humour. "Although I do still have to face your parents at some stage. I can't imagine they're going to react particularly well."

She grinned. "I think Mum had already worked out that I liked you. I don't know what you said when you visited the first time, but she spent the next couple of days quizzing me about you."

After a pause Severus answered carefully, "I don't think that was aimed at you."

"What? You're telling me that you, the master Slytherin spy, accidentally betrayed yourself?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

He scowled at her. "No. At least, I didn't think so. But when she sent your birthday present to me to pass on..."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "Poor dear, did she threaten you? She does that. Don't worry, I'm sure I can convince her to let you live. I think she liked you, actually."

"I doubt that very much," he replied grumpily. "What of your father? Your mother did most of the talking when I spoke to them."

"He's more... conventional than Mum, if that's the right word. He's not going to like the age difference, or that you used to be my teacher. But he's got more faith in me than she does. I think he'll accept that I know what I'm doing. Eventually." She smiled at him. "Don't tell me you're nervous."

Severus glared at her. "Last time I had to endure the meet-the-parents ritual, I was nine," he pointed out irritably. "It was a lot easier."

Swallowing a laugh, she rested her head on his chest once more. "You'll be fine. I know you can be charming when you try, and you did make a very good first impression with the whole saving-our-lives thing. I love you, and so will they once they get to know you a bit better."

"If you say so," he replied, sounding profoundly unconvinced.

* * *

><p><em>Hey look! Art! Been a while since we had any of that (hint hint?). A coloured version of a sketch by <strong>lucife56; <strong> _lucife56 dot deviantart dot com /gallery/#/d52w885

_Also, **Dusked **is looking for a beta to help her with an SSHG fic, drop her a mail if you think you can help out._

_We're drawing close to the end now, I'm sad to say. Maybe three or four chapters left. But they're going to be tremendous fun, I promise. Next chapter involves quite a few Order members...  
><em>


	57. Chapter 57

_A brief point of clarification for the last chapter - Severus' upbringing wasn't typical of the time. There were a few areas of the UK, particularly in the north, that were still as I've described during that period, but most of the country was better off than that and did have better healthcare etc. I should have made that clearer, sorry.  
><em>

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><p><strong>"I am no Superman<br>I have no answers for you  
>I am no hero, oh, that's for sure<br>But I do know one thing  
>Where you are is where I belong<br>I do know where you go is where I want to be..****."**  
>– Dave Matthews Band, 'Where Are You Going?'<p>

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><p>Hermione had expected Severus to have nightmares following their late-night conversation, assuming she didn't end up having any herself, but he had apparently slept peacefully all night, and in fact he had also apparently had some rather pleasant dreams, if the way he woke her up in the early hours was any indication. She couldn't say she was particularly displeased about it, really. Upon reawakening at a more civilised hour, the promise of a repeat performance was dashed by a rather pointed throat-clearing from the wall; mumbling something impolite against Severus' lips, Hermione sighed and reluctantly broke the kiss. "Good morning, Phineas..."<p>

"Good morning," the portrait replied dryly.

"I trust there's a reason for this," Severus growled, making no attempt to move from his current position half on top of her as irritation replaced desire in his dark eyes. "Otherwise you are going to be barred from every single painting in this house. Not only that, I may brave the Hogwarts defences in order to trap you in a frame in Myrtle's bathroom."

"Good morning to you too, Severus. I assure you I don't particularly want to be here either, but I felt you would prefer it if I interrupted you, rather than Minerva."

After a moment Severus echoed Hermione's earlier impolite remark and rolled off her, careful not to trap the blanket so she could pull it up over herself as he did so. "Point taken. What does Minerva want, then?"

"For a start, to spank you for not staying in your own bedroom like a good boy, I believe," Phineas told him, smirking. "But mostly to make sure you both come to breakfast, along with everyone else currently in the house, since it's time to start making plans properly."

"Oh, God, why a breakfast meeting? Has she somehow repressed how terrible staff meetings always were when food was involved?" he complained, sounding thoroughly fed up.

Ignoring her surly mate – she was no happier about the interruption, but really, they'd survive – Hermione sat up, carefully keeping hold of the bedding. "Who's in the house right now?"

"Just the Weasleys, Mr Potter, you two, Minerva, Lupin and Tonks. The commanders and assorted red-headed hangers-on, in other words. That's all that remains of the inner circle. The foot soldiers are elsewhere awaiting a summons to battle," he added rather sarcastically.

"When is this pointless exercise in futility to take place?" Severus asked, twisting to look at the clock.

"Too soon for whatever sordid activities you had in mind for this morning," the portrait told him. "Get up."

Severus' retort was rude enough that Hermione stretched her leg across the mattress under the bedclothes and unceremoniously prodded him towards the edge of the bed. "Come on, grouch. If we don't get down there early enough for you to have a cigarette and some coffee before it starts, you're likely to kill someone."

"Fine," he grumbled, hauling himself out of bed reluctantly and picking up his wand, moving over to the window to get enough light to shave.

Smiling fondly at him, Hermione turned to look up at the portrait. "I've been meaning to ask you a question."

"Oh?"

"What happened when Dumbledore's portrait woke up?" she asked innocently, aware of Severus' sudden interest from the other side of the room.

Phineas cocked his head and gave her one of the most evil smiles she had ever seen. "I am genuinely sorry you both missed it," he told them sincerely. "Dilys spent the entire three days waiting in his frame hovering directly in front of him with her wand drawn..."

"How well can you interact with other paintings?" she asked interestedly. "I know the Fat Lady got drunk off painted wine every Christmas..."

"Anything that's part of a painting we have access to, we can use," he told her. "It's why if you look closely most of us have books in the background of our portraits, and we can swap them around. It is very, very dull being a painting, most of the time."

"Hence your fondness for meddling in other people's lives," Severus observed dryly.

"Quite so," Phineas replied, entirely unashamed. "You can thank us later." Over the wizard's rough laugh, the portrait continued mildly, "And yes, we can use magic against one another, up to a point. It isn't easy, and it doesn't exactly do much damage, but it is possible, although we cannot feel pain. Anyway, when Dumbledore woke up, Dilys was right in front of him in full righteous wrath. He managed less than two minutes of her speech before trying to run."

"Speech?" Hermione echoed, grinning. "She wrote a speech?"

"She's had nobody to interfere with since June and only my reports to entertain her. She wrote several speeches. Very long and angry ones. It took her most of a week of more or less solid non-stop ranting before she started to repeat herself, not including the time spent tracking down whichever hiding spot he was cowering in. I believe he was quite offended that not a single painting in the castle was willing to shelter him. Ever since then, he has been very quiet indeed, except for unsuccessful attempts to wheedle news out of me."

"Oh, I wish you could show us," she said longingly, shaking her head and smiling.

Severus turned away from the window, having finished shaving, and grinned a little unpleasantly as he crossed the room to find the clothes scattered across the floor. "As do I. I look forward to returning to Hogwarts to collect my possessions; do tell Dilys I would like a full re-enactment. And I trust you are going to leave him ignorant of everything for as long as possible. Let him stay helplessly in the dark for a change."

"As you wish. I have also been instructed to remind you that Remus Lupin will be present and you are to play nicely. That was a direct quote."

"It sounds like it. Go away, Phineas."

The portrait smirked and departed without saying anything else, and Hermione regarded Severus with some amusement as he started getting dressed. This was the side of him nobody else got to see – he was still scruffy with sleep, his hair a mess and a pillow crease fading on one cheek. He also had a noticeable love bite on his neck and traces of smugness in his eyes, she noticed, smiling as she reluctantly began to gather her own clothes.

Catching sight of her own reflection as she did up her jeans, she laughed softly. "Anyone looking at us right now can tell exactly what we've been up to," she observed conversationally, before pausing as something occurred to her.

Severus glanced up sharply, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he caught her meaning, and smiled a little. "That's really how you want people to learn?" he asked.

"Well, why not? The only people left who don't know are some of the Weasleys, Lupin and Tonks. Not hiding it any more and letting them work it out is a lot less embarrassing than trying to say it. I don't want to make a huge production of it." Besides, it would probably be quite funny. From the gleam in her partner's eyes, he felt the same.

His lips twitched as he fought off a smirk, glancing at the mirror once more. "Why not? It should liven things up a bit. I doubt anything productive is going to happen in this meeting anyway."

* * *

><p>Severus had to admit this was childish, and also probably a bad idea. There was no way it was going to end well, and his stomach was tight with the unease he always felt when allowing anyone to see anything of his life whatsoever.<p>

That said, it also promised to be funny. There was also a very good chance that Lupin was going to say or do something to justify Severus kicking his arse; all right, magically speaking he was still pretty drained, but he wouldn't need magic to face the last of the Marauders. Anticipation set his lips curving into a smirk as he and Hermione reached the kitchen door and she glanced back at him, her brown eyes dancing impishly; he nodded to her and she slipped through, cheerfully returning greetings.

Severus waited, listening, until one or two people – the twins, inevitably – had noticed her slightly dishevelled and sleepy state; the moment he heard the first comment he nudged the door wider and sauntered in. With his hands in his pockets and the top button of his shirt undone to show the bruise on his throat, this was more casual than any of them had ever seen him, even without the lazily hooded eyes and faintly smug smile that he couldn't have kept off his face had he wanted to.

"Good morning," he drawled into the startled silence, continuing his relaxed saunter across the room to drop into the vacant chair beside Hermione, who bestowed a dazzling smile and a cup of coffee on him.

He heard Minerva sigh. "Really, Severus," she scolded wearily. "Was this necessary?"

To his private amusement, Potter remarked without looking up from his tea, "At least they're both fully dressed this time," and that was enough to break the mood. Ronald started to laugh, and a moment later several of his brothers echoed him, as did Hermione. Minerva gave him a glare – not that he had said anything – but her lips were twitching.

Slowly, Severus allowed his gaze to sweep around the table. Arthur was grinning at him, obviously not surprised; Molly was trying to look disapproving, and failing. The older Weasley boys were gaping at him, the Delacoeur girl, Bill's fiancée, was looking thoughtful, and the twins were now in fully-fledged hysterics, joined by their sister. Tonks had her hand over her mouth and was struggling between looking appalled and fighting her own laughter, by the look of things, and Lupin... Severus felt his smile widen. The werewolf looked absolutely horrified.

He took a nonchalant sip of his coffee and arched an eyebrow. "Did I miss something amusing?" he inquired mildly.

"Don't tease," Hermione told him, swallowing laughter and picking up her tea before turning to face Minerva. "So what are we discussing this morning?" she asked brightly in the chirpy voice Severus recognised as the one she had used to annoy him on those early-morning runs last year.

"Oh, okay, we're just pretending this hasn't happened, are we?" one of the twins – George; Severus had been the only teacher who had never once got them confused – asked cheerfully. "Gotcha."

"Why, did you have something you wished to say, Weasley?" he asked quietly, turning his head slowly to look at the pair of them.

Both boys exchanged glances and gulped theatrically. "No sir," they chorused.

"Good."

"Hermione, can't you get him to stop bullying people?" Potter asked good-naturedly.

She giggled. "No."

"Harry, you knew about this?" Lupin asked; the laughter around the table died away. The werewolf did not sound happy. Severus smirked to himself and took another sip of coffee as Potter looked up.

"Yeah."

"How long has it been going on?"

"Oh, I dunno. Sometime in the summer. Near my birthday." The boy was trying hard to sound casual, but he was one of the few in the room who could imagine just how bad this could get.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"What?" Potter gave him a confused look. "Um, why would I?"

_Good question, _Severus mused calmly. So far, Lupin was reacting exactly as he had hoped he would. He shifted casually in his chair, carefully flexing and relaxing his muscles, getting ready for trouble as the atmosphere began to change.

"So, Ron," Fred began hastily. "How does it feel..."

"...knowing you lost to Professor Snape?" his brother finished.

The youngest male Weasley grinned self-consciously and shook his head. "I didn't lose, it wasn't a contest. Me and Hermione were never... we're just friends. We talked about it ages ago, last Christmas actually, and realised it was never going to work out. This hasn't got anything to do with me."

At some point, Severus reflected, he really ought to apologise for breaking the boy's nose. Weasley could be immensely irritating, but he probably shouldn't have beaten him up – at least not quite so thoroughly. _Definitely not my finest hour._

"Severus, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Lupin asked coolly.

"Usually, yes," he replied calmly. "To you? No, not really."

"Let's keep this civil, shall we, gentlemen," Minerva said crisply, giving them both a disapproving look. Severus took a moment to remember the sound of her raised voice echoing through the Floo as she finally took a Marauder to task for their past sins, and made no attempt to suppress his smirk as Lupin gave her a shocked look.

"You don't seem surprised, Minerva – you knew too?"

"I was made aware of the situation some time ago, yes. Remus, do calm down. I have spoken to both Severus and Hermione and I have no objections."

"He's her teacher!"

"No, I'm not," Severus pointed out mildly. "My teaching career finally came to a long-overdue halt in June, if you recall. No doubt the students will be celebrating, once they finish cowering in fear for their lives. Which brings us neatly back to the original point of this meeting, since last I checked, the war against the Dark Lord was a little more important than my personal life," he added with deliberate sarcasm. _Go on, wolf. I dare you._

Ignoring him – probably quite wisely, under the circumstances – Lupin turned to Hermione, adopting an expression of wide-eyed sincerity. "Hermione, whatever's happened, whatever he's told you to get you to do this..."

"Oh, dear," Weasley murmured, prudently sliding his chair over a little. Severus felt a slow smile crossing his face as the hair on his arms stood on end in response to a subtle shift in the air, and he watched with pleasure as his lover's brown eyes began to burn with quiet anger. Her hair had started to frizz – well, it had already been quite bad, but it was getting worse.

"Excuse me?" she asked in a very polite voice. The rest of the younger Weasleys began inching away from the line of fire, suppressing grins once they were out of danger. Hermione continued in a far too calm voice, "I'm a little confused here. Why do you assume Severus started it at all, for one thing, let alone used coercion?"

"Remus," Tonks said quietly. The two of them appeared to have settled their differences from last time, as if Severus cared. The Metamorphagus stretched out a hand and gripped his arm. "Come on. We've both known Hermione and Severus for a long time. Do you honestly think anything bad would happen?"

"You don't know him like I do," the werewolf told her. "He's never cared about anyone but himself. Which didn't stop him mooning after Lily Evans, once James showed an interest in her," he added, somewhat spitefully and completely inaccurately.

Severus snorted a laugh, somewhat to his own surprise. _God, you're such a fucking moron sometimes. And you should know better than to give me a straight line like that. _"Me?" he retorted. "I'm not the one who sent her anonymous Valentines for three years in a row." Although to be fair, most of their year had done just that.

Lupin went dead white, and Severus smiled coldly, vaguely aware of Potter making a choked sound somewhere to one side. His vision had narrowed as he focused on the threat, and he was ignoring everyone else in the room.

"Well, Lupin? Cat got your tongue?" he drawled. "Run out of clever things to say?" The Marauders never had been able to win a war of words with him. That was why Potter Senior and his sidekick had usually fallen back on beating him up.

"You sick bastard. What, you can't get your kicks with defenceless women as a Death Eater any more, so you thought you'd seduce an innocent girl for fun? Or is it just that she's Harry's friend?"

Magic rippled across Severus' senses, and he remained motionless as a chair scraped back, pushing his anger down. Hermione stood up and walked slowly around the table to where Lupin sat, her face expressionless. She looked at him quite calmly as he cleared his throat. "Hermione –"

She slapped him, a backhand blow across the face, turning her body to put as much force behind the blow as possible. It had been her left hand, and the setting of the gems on her engagement ring drew blood in a long scratch across the werewolf's cheek. Severus felt a jolt of pleasure at the sight of her defending them both that was almost sexual, a shiver running down his back, and he relaxed back into his chair to enjoy himself.

Hermione's expression was still surprisingly calm, but her eyes were furious and her hair was beginning to stir and crackle with static. "Because obviously that's the only reason he would want me. Just because I happened to be the only woman around, or because it would hurt Harry."

"Hermione, that's not what I meant," Lupin protested weakly, touching his cheek gingerly.

"That was a foul thing to say about anyone, least of all Severus, and you really don't know what you're talking about," she told him coldly, glaring at him before turning and calmly returning to her chair, picking up her tea as though nothing had happened.

Molly stood up decisively, absently cuffing the closest twin to stop him sniggering. "I'm sorry, Remus, but you deserved that," she said briskly. "Time to get to work while I get started with breakfast for everyone. Minerva?"

"Yes, thank you, Molly. Remus, don't say another word. I'm not Albus, I'm not going to sigh in disappointment because you and Severus can't get along; I can and will hex the first one of you to cause trouble, and right now it looks like it's going to be you. You are on very thin ice as it is."

Tonks cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Hermione, Severus, I'm sorry. Don't be too hard on Remus. It was full moon a couple of days ago, and without the Wolfsbane, it's pretty rough on him."

_Forgive me if I don't break down sobbing for him, _Severus thought darkly. The transformation probably was very painful, but so was the Cruciatus curse. He shrugged in response and turned away, focusing on Minerva, who was in the process of Transfiguring an actual honest-to-God blackboard next to the sink.

Amidst the chaos of a full Weasley breakfast – enough to put anyone off food for life, frankly – the atmosphere in the kitchen eased off. That was probably helped by Tonks having spotted Hermione's ring; the two women were now deep in whispered conversation that seemed to involve a lot of giggling, and Severus was quite sure he didn't want to know what they were talking about. He had also elected to turn a prudently deaf ear to the little knot consisting of the three youngest male Weasleys, Potter and his girlfriend; better not to know. Lupin was sulking, which wasn't very surprising but at least he was being quiet about it. And he'd forgotten how good Molly's cooking was – not many people could stay in a bad mood with their mouths full.

Once everyone had finished eating and settled down again, Minerva took over, writing lists on the blackboard as she began to work out the numbers, calculating the number of Order members who were fit for combat and the number of non-combatants who could be designated as healers, or guards, or something else. She was also trying to work out how many Death Eaters they could potentially be facing, and trying to concoct strategies for getting Potter close to the Dark Lord. Everyone was getting quite involved; Severus sat back and watched, waiting patiently for someone to realise the significant flaw in this plan.

Finally Minerva spread her hands. "We have no more information to go on. Severus, can you add any intelligence from what you know about the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who?"

He shook his head, but before he could actually say anything Lupin said sullenly, "Of course he can't."

_Oh, for fuck's sake, I've had enough of this. _Severus gave the werewolf a long stare. "Do you recall the day Dumbledore died, Lupin? I told you that if you ever touched me again, I would kill you. Allow me to elaborate – don't speak to me again, or I will put you in hospital. Just shut the hell up. All I have ever wanted from you was to be left alone; do so."

Lupin then did something very, very stupid – he drew his wand.

Severus was out of his chair and half way across the room before anyone had time to react. Dragging the werewolf out of his chair, he threw him against the wall, holding his own wand with the tip about an inch from Lupin's eye. The Marauder was taller than he was, but he'd been targeted by bigger boys all his life and he was _itching _for a fight.

Before anyone could speak, Severus cleared his throat, his whole body tense and trembling as he fought not to reduce his hated enemy to a greasy stain on the floor. "Go ahead, Marauder," he whispered. "Try it. I will turn you inside out and leave you screaming. You'll wish Greyback had you again by the time I'm done with you. Just – give – me – a – reason."

He cleared his throat again and swallowed hard, trying to blink back the red mist. More conversationally, he added, "You should actually be very grateful that I am with Hermione. Nobody in this room has any chance of physically stopping me killing you, and she is the only one with a hope in Hell of talking me out of it. Keep pushing, Lupin, let's see if she wants to stop me ripping you apart after your earlier attitude."

"Not particularly, no," Hermione said calmly from her chair; he could hear the note of worry in her voice, but he doubted anyone else could pick it up. "But I do quite like Tonks, and she would miss him."

Severus met Lupin's eyes, staring him down, finally seeing the Marauder's awareness of how much danger he was in. He knew the werewolf had never truly believed he'd do it before now. "No more chances, not even for her," he said very softly. "Next time you challenge me, you're dead. No threats, no posing, no insults. I'll kill you. Do you understand me?"

All that time spent researching werewolves had paid off; he saw the werewolf back down and look away without having to make him say it. Letting go, he turned away, sliding his wand back into his sleeve and trying to relax the knotted tension in his shoulders, swallowing back the anger and forcing himself to calm down. He took his seat again, and Hermione wordlessly reached under the table and rested her hand on his thigh; he laid his hand over hers, twining their fingers together as Lupin meekly sat down again.

"Severus, you've used up what leeway you had earned," Minerva told him quietly. "No more trouble." He nodded, and she gestured to the board. "All right, then. What else can you add?"

He stared at the neat lists and notes and shook his head, absently stroking Hermione's knuckles with his thumb before looking around. Hermione looked worried, which he had expected – even without the near-duel that had just threatened to erupt, she would be fretting about the fight to come, about people getting hurt. She'd make the logical next step as soon as she stopped biting her lip and worrying enough to think. Potter and Weasley both wore identical frowns and he didn't think they were far from working it out either; nobody else in the room seemed to have a clue.

Sighing, he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "What, exactly, are you trying to do, Minerva? What is the point of this meeting?"

She stared at him. "...To plan the final battle," she said finally, in a wary tone that suggested she was looking for a trap.

"And where is it going to take place?"

There was yet another long silence. Severus sighed again. "You don't know where he is, and you have no means of finding him. He knows what the four of us have been doing; you've seen the Wanted posters in the papers. He knows we've made him mortal. Vulnerable. Why the hell should he risk his neck to challenge a lot of self-righteous Gryffindors? He won't come to face you in some glorious fight straight out of a medieval saga. Why should he?"

He continued quietly, "And you're still putting too much faith in the prophecy, and in what Dumbledore said should happen. Look at Potter." The boy promptly blushed as everyone turned to stare at him. Severus kept talking softly. "He's not a hero. He's not our saviour. He's not the Chosen One. He's a seventeen year old boy. Granted, he has survived many things that really should have killed him, but there is absolutely no reason why he should have faced any of them in the first place. Why, in a room full of more powerful, more knowledgeable, more experienced, more skilled and arguably more intelligent witches and wizards, should we stake the fate of our world on him?"

"He's got a point, Harry," one of the twins said solemnly after a short pause.

"Yeah, we'd never live down the shame of being saved by a scrawny git in glasses," his brother agreed.

"Fine by me," Potter said cheerfully. "It's definitely someone else's turn to save the world."

"You think Albus was wrong then, Severus?" Arthur asked.

Severus nodded. "I do. The Dark Lord is now fully mortal. He can be killed by the first person to find him. And all glorious battles ever do is get innocent people killed." He waved a hand at the blackboard. "This is something from a story. Life doesn't work like this. I'm not willing to risk my life to go down in a blaze of Gryffindor glory. Make all the jokes you like about the Slytherin point of view, but we know how to survive. Your plan will get at least half the Order killed and military honours don't mean a thing to the dead, or to their grieving relatives. We cannot win a fair fight. They outnumber us and they're far more willing to kill than any of you are. If you somehow do manage to find him, you will lose and you will die."

"So what do you suggest?" Molly asked quietly.

He shrugged. "These past few months have been about finding another way. I don't have a plan yet, but I know this isn't the way. If I think of a better plan, and if there's a place in it for you, I'll let you know, but until then I think I'll be better off on my own."

"Ahem," Hermione murmured quietly, squeezing his hand, and he found himself suddenly fighting not to grin.

"I stand corrected. _We _will be better off on _our _own. What do you think, Potter? Do you still want to be a hero?"

"I think you've finally taught me not to do that," the boy replied with a rueful grin.

"You must be so proud," Arthur said dryly – when he wasn't overshadowed by his more boisterous family, he had a very good sense of humour.

"I'm all choked up," Severus told him sarcastically.

"Can I come?" Ginevra asked plaintively.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"But –"

"_Ginny,_" Molly said firmly. "Enough. You've survived entire weeks at a time without Harry."

"So that's it?" Minerva asked quietly. "You're taking sides?"

Severus shook his head. "We're on the same side, Minerva. But I was never part of this. I was never part of the Order's plans and I don't want to die gloriously and heroically. I plan to live, and I plan to win."

"First one to kill You-Know-Who gets the book rights!" one of the twins yelled.

The meeting broke up at that point, and the four of them quietly collected their things. Severus' mind was elsewhere now, but he retained enough awareness to pause in the doorway as they left and look back at the gathered Order. Pure, childish mischief took over, and he cleared his throat politely. "Allow me to leave you with one final thought, Lupin. I could have pissed in your Wolfsbane at any time over these past years. And you're never going to know whether I did or not."

He closed the door firmly enough to set Mrs Black off, fighting back laughter.

* * *

><p>"Did you ever do that to the Wolfsbane?" Weasley asked as they re-entered the shabby house.<p>

Severus snorted. "Of course I didn't. But I can guarantee he now believes I did."

"You do cause trouble," Hermione told him, giving him an amused look, and he arched an eyebrow at her.

"I'm not the one who drew blood," he pointed out, trying to keep his voice neutral to hide his reaction to that. _Later, _he promised himself.

She blushed at that, smiling. "I do feel a little bad about that. But not very much."

"He deserved it," Potter said, somewhat surprisingly. He looked a little unhappy. "I don't know why he's acting like this. He never used to be."

"He's been fighting with Tonks a lot recently," Hermione provided. "She thinks it's partly old insecurities, partly repressed grief over Sirius, partly he's angry about not being able to win the werewolves away from You-Know-Who, and partly he's worried about what might happen if he gets free on a full moon now and in a lot more pain from his transformations than he was before. So he's taking it out on Severus because they already dislike one another so if they fall out it won't matter."

"You're getting good at this psychology stuff," Weasley told her admiringly. "Did you know this before or after you slapped him?"

"Does it matter?"

"Before, then."

"Shut up, Ron."

The four of them headed upstairs to unpack. Potter called from the bedroom the boys were sharing, "Sir, I know you don't want a big scene, but... thank you."

For once, Severus didn't know what he was talking about. "What for?"

The pair appeared in the doorway and Potter looked at him seriously. "I know you've never really believed the prophecy and stuff, but... everyone else did. You saw how they all just assumed I'd have to duel You-Know-Who. And that there would be some huge battle."

"That's how Gryffindors tend to think," he replied dryly, suppressing a smile at the three near-identical glares.

"Don't be nasty," Hermione told him.

"I would rush to apologise, but I'm paralysed with not caring very much. You've just seen a room full of Gryffindors – and Tonks – all happily planning a suicidal charge into a meat grinder even though most of them were present at Hogwarts for the fight that got Moody and Kingsley killed and several of them injured. You saw the looks they gave me. It never occurred to any of them to do anything else except nobly sacrifice themselves on the strength of something Sybil Trelawney said two decades ago. I would hope you three had at least considered there might be another option."

They exchanged glances before Hermione nodded. "We did talk about it, a little, trying to work out what would happen. None of us wanted another battle. Not after the Ministry, and then Hogwarts. And we did realise we don't know where You-Know-Who is."

"Good. Perhaps there is some hope for you after all."

"So how do you plan to find him, then?" Potter asked.

Severus shrugged. "I have no idea. We'll need to think about it."

* * *

><p>"Okay, I really don't see any other option," Ron said quietly several days later in the middle of yet another brainstorming session that had yielded no useful ideas whatsoever. "We're going to have to try and kidnap a Death Eater and get them to tell us where You-Know-Who is hiding. You said you can get hold of Veritaserum."<p>

"If I absolutely have to, yes, I know a few places I can illegally get some in a hurry, or there's always Legilimency. Or old-fashioned torture, if I have to. But I told you, Weasley, it's not going to be that easy. For a start, kidnapping a witch or wizard is pretty tricky in the first place."

"Also it's the same problem we already have," Hermione elaborated. "They probably don't know what's going on, but they'll know there's something strange happening. We don't know where to look to get hold of most of the Death Eaters, and the ones we can find will be holed up behind some pretty strong defences, or hiding somewhere else. There aren't enough of us to be able to manage it."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm almost sorry I killed Pettigrew," Severus muttered, shoving his lank hair back from his face with a hand that was trembling slightly from too much coffee and too little sleep. "The one time the rat might actually have been useful..."

"You told me last week you'd thought of a few possibilities since the summer," Hermione hinted, giving him a hopeful look, and he shook his head wearily.

"I had, but if any of them were going to come to anything, it would have happened by now. I think we're on our own." He scratched his jaw and scowled at nothing, propping his chin on his hand.

"Hypothetically, what would happen if we just walked into the Ministry?" Harry asked, and Severus gave him a disgusted look.

"You'd be killed or captured. I wouldn't be stupid enough to do it. This is no time to be stupid, Potter. You've been reading the papers, everything's quiet enough at the moment. We have time to come up with a non-kamikaze plan."

"A what?" Ron asked, and winced at the scowl it earned him. "Right, Muggle thing, I'll shut up now."

"If only that were true."

"Boys," Hermione said tiredly.

* * *

><p>Yet another argument the following day – Ron and Harry were on the verge of starting a fight, by the look of things – was mercifully interrupted by an unholy racket coming from the garden. Severus cursed softly as the boys looked up. "Damnit, Potter. I warned you, if your owl draws attention to herself one of my neighbours is likely to shoot her."<p>

"It's not Hedwig," Hermione reported, looking out of the kitchen window. "Not just her, anyway. She and Pig are dive-bombing another owl, one I don't recognise. It's not one of the _Prophet's _owls, or one from the Order."

"Hedwig wouldn't attack a post owl anyway," Harry said defensively, opening the window. "Hedwig, come in and leave it alone."

"You too, Pig," Ron said wearily, glaring at his owl as the two of them glided in and perched on the back of a chair, ruffling their feathers and looking irritated.

Severus stared out into the garden with narrowed eyes before relaxing a little. "I know that owl. Don't try to touch him, he's a vicious bastard and he will take your fingers off. _Diogenes! _Get in here!"

"Diogenes?" Hermione echoed as the owl came in and Severus slammed the window shut.

"I know. Ghastly, isn't it. He wanted the name of a Greek philosopher for some reason, and that's the one he picked." Severus advanced on the owl. "Remember what happened last time you tried anything?" he asked it. The bird turned its head away and extended one clawed foot with a lofty air. "That's what I thought."

"What kind of owl is this?" Ron asked interestedly. "I don't recognise it."

"Short-eared, supposedly, although I prefer to think that he's a cross between a feather duster and a rabid wolverine."

"Who does he belong to?"

Typically, Severus ignored the question, unrolling the slip of parchment bound to the owl's leg. The others crowded around to see; Hermione frowned at the unfamiliar writing, which spelled out today's date and a time – half past four that afternoon – followed by a question mark. It wasn't signed and had no form of address.

"Well, that's helpful," she said finally. "What does it mean, Severus?"

He was scowling at the note. "I was hoping for something like this since the day we killed Nagini," he said quietly, "but it's been long enough since then to make me suspicious. This is either a trap, or it's what is going to win us the war."

"What?"

About to answer, he paused and looked up at her, his dark eyes glittering with sudden humour that made a welcome change from the scowl of the past few days. "If I try and be cryptic again, you're going to lose your temper, aren't you."

Suppressing a smile, she nodded firmly. "Yes. I know how much you enjoy it, but if this is a possible trap, we need to know what's going on."

"I suppose so. All right. This owl belongs to Lucius Malfoy."

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"You heard me," Severus told him irritably. He tapped the note with a finger. "He wants a meeting."

"You got that from the date and some numbers?" Ron asked.

"He suggests the time. If I agree, I'll reply with the place. It's standard between us," Severus responded absently, staring down at it again.

"I know you're friends with him..." Hermione said slowly.

He shrugged. "I was. But that was before I broke the vow promising to protect his son and walked away from them. I have no idea how things stand now. I had hoped that once the Dark Lord realised what was happening, he would vent it on his followers to such an extent that someone might be willing to risk turning traitor, but it's been a while since that happened. This could be a setup." Exhaling, he leaned back, absently moving his hand as Diogenes' beak clacked shut an inch from his fingers.

"You're not going to meet him, are you?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I don't see much choice, Potter. If this is sincere, it's more than worth the risk. With Lucius on our side, I know exactly how we're going to win. It's worth the gamble."

"And if it's a trap?" Hermione asked.

He smiled at her, partly amused but mostly sincere. "I'll run, obviously. I'm not going to meekly walk into a snare. You know me better than that by now."

"I'm not letting you go alone."

"Hermione..."

"Don't even think about it, Severus. We're going with you. No arguments."

His lips twitched as he took in her expression, before he glanced at Harry and Ron and rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. But you can only accompany me if you promise to do as I say. I'll give him the co-ordinates to the warehouse where Gringotts' back entrance is – the chances of a successful ambush in a busy Muggle area are fairly remote, and we'll get there early to make sure there aren't any surprises. You keep your wands out, but _do not _use magic unless someone attacks us. I mean it. No matter what happens, do not strike first. I will personally curse the first one to cast a spell. Even you, Hermione."

Personally, she rather doubted that, but he had made his point. "He'll be alone?"

"If he's got any sense. Lucius has known me since I was eleven; he knows that if he shows up with anyone else I'm going to curse them and get the hell out. If he arrives in company, it's a trap and we all run. Don't waste time trying spells, just Apparate straight back here. Don't try to stay together either; you're all capable of getting out by yourselves. This is non-negotiable; if you don't want to play by these rules, you stay here."

"All right," she agreed quietly, recognising from the intensity in his voice that he was actually quite worried about this. "I promise." She gave Harry and Ron a pointed look.

They exchanged glances before shrugging. "I reckon this is a trap, but okay," Harry agreed. Ron nodded.

"All right, then." Severus found a pen and scrawled a set of co-ordinates on the bottom of the slip of parchment, carefully tying it back to the owl's leg.

"Are we bothering to tell the Order?" Harry asked as he opened the window to let Diogenes leave.

"Of course we're not. All they'll do is scold us for taking such a risk. But I know Lucius, and they don't. I'm not stupid enough to assume this is sincere just because we were friends, but I think the odds are fairly good that we've just won the war, even if nobody else knows it yet."

* * *

><p><em>Dear FFN, I would appreciate it if you would stop fixing things that aren't broken. There was nothing wrong with the old review system. Or the old layout, actually. Bah.<br>_

_Anyway, as you can probably imagine, we're in for some fun next time...  
><em>


	58. Chapter 58

_So many reviews I couldn't reply to because people keep being logged out and end up reviewing anonymously... Why doesn't FFN want me to talk to you all any more?_

_Also regarding Lupin in the previous chapter, at this point in canon he went insane for some reason and started acting utterly out of character, walking out on Tonks, almost attacking Harry, etc. Since I don't like him enough to care, that was one bit of canon I elected not to change._

* * *

><p><strong>"Meeting you, with a view to a kill<br>Face to face in secret places, feel the chill  
>Night fall covers me, but you know the plans I'm making<br>Still overseas, could it be the whole world opening wide  
>A sacred why, a mystery gaping inside..<strong>**."**  
>– Duran Duran, 'A View To A Kill'<p>

* * *

><p>It turned out that Severus' idea of 'getting there early' meant 'almost immediately'. Less than fifteen minutes after Lucius Malfoy's owl had left, Hermione was sitting on a stack of crates in a corner of the warehouse with Harry and Ron while Severus prowled around outside looking for potential trouble.<p>

"This is going to be a trap," Harry said flatly. "I don't know why he seems to think it might not be."

"Harry, relax," Ron told him. "Snape's as paranoid as they come. If he's not worried, why should we be?"

"Because it's Malfoy."

"...Good point."

Hermione shook her head. "They've been friends a long time. I assume he knows Mr Malfoy better than we do. We've only seen him maybe four or five times."

"Yes, and he's tried to kill me on most of those occasions," Harry pointed out fairly.

"True. Still. I trust Severus. He wouldn't be doing this if he thought it really would be a trap. And even if it is, they haven't had time to set anything up in advance, and we're armed and ready to run."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the distant sounds of traffic from outside. "Oh, by the way, Harry, can I borrow Hedwig later?" she asked.

"Of course. Why? Are you going to contact your parents now things are nearly over?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet, not until everything's finished for certain. Better safe than sorry. No, I actually want to write a quick note to Lupin. I think I should apologise for slapping him."

"Why? He deserved it," Ron said blankly. "Even my mum admitted it."

"He deserved _something, _and I really am still furious with him, but I shouldn't have hit him. He would never hit me back, so it wasn't really fair."

"You didn't feel guilty about punching Draco in third year," Harry reminded her, grinning.

"He certainly wouldn't have hesitated to hit me back if he wasn't such a wimp," she pointed out, smiling a little sheepishly. "Besides, he's a jerk about everything. Lupin isn't. He's mostly a nice man, except where Severus is concerned."

"He never used to be. He seemed to be trying to get along with him when he was teaching."

"You think so? You don't think the stunt with the Boggart was a bit of a nasty trick? Severus had no way of retaliating without getting into trouble. It wasn't exactly professional to get us all laughing at him behind his back, was it? And Lupin must have known we'd tell everyone else. I know it was partly to try and make Neville feel better, and Severus was being spiteful, but it was still too far. You can't blame his friends pressuring him either." She shrugged. "So I'm a little bit sorry for hitting him, but certainly not for anything else, and he still owes both of us an apology, but I don't want to make a big fuss about it."

"I guess that's fair enough," Harry conceded before grinning again. "Speaking of Neville, he's going to wet himself when he hears about you and Snape. He's not going to be the only one, either."

"I know," she agreed ruefully. "I'm trying not to think about it. At the moment we're planning to keep it all very quiet until I've finished my NEWTs; once I've graduated, we'll get married, and then run away and hide somewhere nice and sunny until the newspapers have got bored of the scandal and everyone's more or less stopped freaking out."

"Good plan," Ron approved. "It might take a long while, though."

She grinned. "What a shame."

Severus came in a few minutes later and held up a hand as the three of them started to get up. "Relax. This is no time to get jittery. It's all clear out there, and I laid a couple of detection wards to tell us when anyone carrying a wand gets close. I also spelled this place – we can Apparate out, but nobody can Apparate in." He climbed part way up another stack of crates and settled down, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket and making himself comfortable as he lit up. "Now we wait."

* * *

><p>Apparently Lucius Malfoy believed in being fashionably late; it was quarter to five before the door to the warehouse quietly clicked open and he crossed to the centre of the floor, his cane clicking on the concrete with every step. Leaning on it, he looked around as Severus stood and stepped off the crates, moving forward to meet him with his wand held loosely in one hand. Hermione held the Elder Wand; no matter her faith in Severus, she didn't trust any Malfoy as far as she could throw them, and if things went bad she wanted every possible advantage. Even now, she still occasionally had bad dreams about the Ministry, and Lucius' cool grey eyes often featured.<p>

The two men stood a little way apart, staring at one another through narrowed eyes. Lucius didn't seem to be armed, but his hand was gripping his cane carefully and she knew that was where he kept his wand. Trying to be objective, she studied the older man; on the surface he looked the same as ever, immaculately groomed and faintly bored, his long blond hair neatly tied back and his robe professionally tailored – evidently he would never lower himself to wearing Muggle clothes. Looking past that, he seemed tired, faint shadows under his eyes, and he hadn't shaved very carefully that morning.

For no reason that she could discern, Severus abruptly relaxed, apparently having judged that there was no threat. Keeping his wand loosely by his side, he closed the distance between them and he and Lucius traded rough forearm grips in a surprisingly friendly gesture; more than that, Severus was almost smiling. Hermione watched with growing interest; she hadn't seen him interacting with a male friend before. She hadn't really realised he had any.

"You look terrible," he told Lucius quietly, sounding faintly amused.

"And you do not," Lucius observed, raising an eyebrow as he stepped back and looked Severus up and down. "In fact, you look better than I believe I have ever seen you. How interesting." He looked over at the three of them and his lip curled. "Particularly if this is the company you have been keeping."

Harry promptly started forward with a scowl. "Nice to see you again too."

"Zip it, Potter," Severus said without looking around, as Hermione and Ron wordlessly moved to either side, forming a half-circle facing Lucius. "How are Draco and Narcissa?" he asked. Lucius didn't answer, and he abruptly tensed. "They're not..."

"No," the other Slytherin answered wearily. "But it has come close, once or twice. Draco..." He sighed, then looked up, and his grey eyes were ice. "You walked away from him, Severus."

"I know," he answered quietly. "I did what I could. It wasn't enough, and I don't expect him to understand."

"We have tried to explain to him, as much as we could. But frankly I didn't understand either, at first."

Severus shrugged, a small smile touching one corner of his mouth, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, you are sometimes rather slow on the uptake."

"Clearly," Lucius drawled, his features relaxing into his usual faint sneer. "So. Your allies leave something to be desired..." Severus' smile increased slightly, his dark eyes beginning to glitter, although he didn't reply. Lucius frowned, then abruptly turned his head and stared at Hermione before making a disgusted sound. "Oh, you cannot be serious. _Her? _Really?"

The glitter and the smile both faded, and Severus raised one eyebrow slightly. "Who did you think I meant?" he asked quietly. Hermione recognised his tone; it wasn't a warning, but it could become one very quickly.

Lucius blinked at him, frowning again, and gave her a second, more measuring look. "Hmm," he murmured after quite a long pause, very slowly looking her up and down. Shaking his head, he looked back at Severus. "In hindsight, I suppose that would explain it. Narcissa is going to be very disappointed in you."

"No doubt," he replied dryly. Cocking his head to one side, he studied his friend with a faintly pensive expression for a moment, before suddenly grinning, a startlingly boyish expression that Hermione very rarely saw from him. "Has everyone been missing me?"

Lucius actually grinned back at him; for a moment the two of them looked oddly alike despite the differences in colouring and features. "You would have been deeply touched, Severus. He was heartbroken to learn that you didn't love him any more. And my dear sister in law has been pining."

"Good. Be sure to give her my affections."

"This is really, really weird," Ron murmured in an undertone.

Hermione smiled ruefully at him. "It is, a bit. I suppose it's probably not a trap, then. I wish they weren't speaking in code, though. I've barely understood half of what they're saying. Except for the part about me," she added, her smile fading. It had been a long time since she'd encountered the typical Slytherin attitude to Muggleborns.

Harry cleared his throat pointedly. "I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but can we get to the reason for this meeting? What do you want, Malfoy?"

Lucius didn't even look at him, drawling, "Really, Severus, haven't you taught these boys any manners yet?"

"Given what I had to work with?" Severus responded, sounding amused. "I admit it's rather hard to tell, but they have improved – marginally – since leaving school."

"It would be difficult for them to get any worse," he noted.

"Look who's talking!" Ron snapped at him.

Severus sighed. "Really, Weasley, after six years of Draco baiting you, I would think even you could recognise when someone is trying to provoke you. Lucius, do stop winding them up. I'm the one who will have to endure the sulking tonight."

"That is what happens when you adopt children," the other Slytherin told him mockingly.

"You're not funny," Harry said, sounding frustrated. "What do you _want?_"

"I would have thought it was rather obvious. Do you make Severus spell everything out for you, Potter? I'm surprised he hasn't gone insane from the tedium of ratcheting his IQ down that far."

Visibly gritting his teeth, Harry forced back his anger and tried for sarcasm – rather misguidedly, in Hermione's opinion, given that he was up against two clear experts in the art. "It's obvious you want to be on the winning side, yes. I was hoping for specifics."

Lucius looked at him, his sneer fading as his eyes turned cool and distant once more. "I didn't come here to bandy words with you, _boy._" His hand moved on his cane.

"Lucius," Severus said quietly. The two men looked at one another, less friendly now, before the blond looked away as he continued, "Potter, shut up. Go home if you can't hold your tongue. Lucius wants to be on the side that will keep his family alive, which even you cannot blame him for. You have no idea what's been happening among the Death Eaters since the Dark Lord realised what we had done."

"I don't care, either," Harry retorted.

"I do." Severus' black eyes had hardened as he stared Harry down. After a long moment he turned back to his friend and nodded towards the cane. "Spasms in the fingers?"

"Yes," Lucius replied in a clipped voice.

Severus took a breath. "Hermione knows the spells to help with that."

"Oh, hell no." She shook her head. "Severus, last time I saw this man he was trying to kill me. The time before that, he was trying to kill me."

He met her eyes. "Please," he asked quietly.

Biting her lip hard enough to hurt, Hermione looked at Lucius, who stared back at her impassively. She looked down at his hand, finally noticing the minute tremors of the Cruciatus curse and the slight stiffness in his stance that suggested he didn't want to move any more than necessary, before looking at his face once more; his grey eyes were slightly bloodshot and utterly devoid of expression in a manner that was all too familiar.

Finally she looked back at Severus; his expression was just as neutral, except for his eyes. He had dropped his Occlumency shields, and she could see he understood why she didn't want to do this. Biting her lip again, she hesitated; Lucius was his friend, but he was also technically their enemy.

Sighing, she drew her vine wand from her belt, replacing it with the Elder Wand, and stepped forward, giving her fiancé a glare. _You owe me for this. _Transferring the glare to Lucius, she said curtly, "Even _think _of calling me a Mudblood and I will do something to your nervous system that will make you cry like a little girl."

To her surprise, he looked amused. "Oh, I can see why he likes you. Relax, Miss Granger. As Potter so astutely pointed out, I wish to be on the winning side, and I see no benefit in jeopardising that by insulting you. Besides, Severus would react rather abruptly – he does that from time to time – and I have practiced duelling against him often enough not to wish to try it for real."

_I don't want to be your friend. _Ignoring him, she quietly began to cast the neural suppression charms she had learned so long ago, and heard his breath hitch as he shivered in reaction; it occurred to her that he might well not have had anyone to treat the aftermath of his punishments before, since Severus had implied he didn't know this spell.

"Shame on you, Hermione," Ron told her in a scandalised tone; he sounded as though he was trying to pretend he was joking so Severus wouldn't hurt him.

"I'm still considering formally training to become a Healer," she told him between casts. "We can't refuse to treat someone just because they happen to be elitist pureblood murderers." Lucius laughed at that, softly, flexing his hand around his cane as the tremors eased a little. Deciding that was good enough, she drew away, pointedly wiping her hand on her jeans as she retreated to stand beside Severus.

"Thank you, love," he murmured without moving his lips, so quietly that she barely heard him. It was only the second time he had ever said it, and the first time he had done so while maintaining eye contact, which promptly dissolved her irritation and left her swallowing and having to look away. She knew what it must have cost him to say it so publicly, even if he had made sure nobody else could hear it.

Severus gave his friend a pointed look, and after a moment Lucius cleared his throat uncomfortably. "My thanks," he said stiffly.

"I didn't do it for you," she snapped. "Harry's right, can we get a move on?"

Severus pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up. It looked casual, but Hermione knew it was rare for him to smoke this much; he was uneasy, even if he didn't show it. Exhaling smoke, he nodded. "Time is pressing. Can you vouch for any of the others, Lucius?"

He shook his head. "None. It's worse than even you can think, Severus. I hope you realise the trust I am placing in you. If this doesn't work, I will be made to watch my wife and son die screaming before enduring the same fate, if I'm lucky. Nobody else will dare."

"Damn."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, sounding really frustrated now.

"It means we can't bring the Order in easily," Severus told him, frowning. He moved over to the stack of crates, flicking his wand briefly to arrange a few of them in a rough circle and motioning them all to sit down. "Originally I hoped some would be willing to change sides once the Dark Lord went insane and that they could give us the location of his hideout so we could arrange an ambush. Understand, you three, the only way to get into a Death Eater meeting or location is to have the Dark Mark or to be brought in by someone who has it. With enough Death Eaters willing to risk it, the Order could have attacked. As it is, either we hope the combined strength of the Order is enough to break the wards before the Dark Lord flees, or we come up with another plan."

"And you want us to trust Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked levelly. He was holding his temper now, but his tone wasn't friendly.

Severus shrugged and leaned back, focusing on his cigarette. Lucius looked around at them. "He almost blinded Draco last week. I had to stand and watch my son screaming under torture," he said coldly. "I won't repeat what I had to endure to prevent my wife being assaulted. I originally joined the Dark Lord to give them the best possible life – yes, by gaining wealth and power, as if I am alone in that desire. Now the best thing I can do for them is to bring him down before he kills them. You four offer a chance of that. I don't know what you've done, not for certain... Severus?"

"The snake was a Horcrux," Severus told him laconically. "There were others. We have now destroyed them all. He's mortal and we can kill him."

Lucius blinked slowly again, raising his eyebrows slightly. "My, you have been busy," he said finally. "I suppose that explains his reaction." He shrugged. "Does Dumbledore know you're here, by the way?"

"No."

The single monosyllable was evidently enough for a Slytherin; Lucius' eyes widened slightly. "I see. Tragic. And now you have walked away from the rather melodramatically named Order of the Phoenix..."

"Melodramatic? This, from someone calling themselves a _Death Eater_?" Hermione said before she could stop herself, and Severus snorted in quiet amusement.

Lucius looked faintly irritated, but nodded, conceding the point. "Touché."

"We haven't quite abandoned the Order," Severus provided. "There has certainly been a separation, and the four of us have been working alone for the most part, but I suppose we can't leave them out of all the fun. They would make excellent human shields, after all."

"Severus," Hermione rebuked him softly, and he gave her an amused look before turning back to his friend.

"To business, then. Who is still alive?"

"Sadly, almost everyone. Your noble friends were curiously reluctant to act on the advantage you gave them..."

Severus rolled his eyes and nodded. "Yes."

"We're not murderers," Harry snapped.

"That's _enough_, Potter. You can be self-righteous later. A few more murderers in the Order could have shortened this war by years; only an idiot gets into this sort of fight when they aren't prepared to kill. You three were dragged in; the rest of the Order made a choice," Severus told him crisply. "So who did we lose, Lucius?"

"_He_ killed Rabastan. I'm honestly not sure why. Goyle got himself killed. Avery tried to run. Needless to say, he failed. A few from the lower circles died, one way or another, but only those three from higher up."

Severus nodded thoughtfully. "So that means Bella and Rodolphus... Macnair, Rookwood, Crabbe, Greyback, the Carrows... Have there been any full meetings since the battle at Hogwarts?"

"Only one, a few days afterwards. He won't hold any more."

"That makes things easier, then. And we can count on yourself, Narcissa and Draco?"

"If I like your plan," Lucius told him honestly. "I haven't told Narcissa or Draco anything specific yet, only that I was meeting with you to see what you could come up with. If I think you've got a chance, I'll bring them in. I don't want them involved initially, though. They'll act when you do."

He nodded. "I can work with that, I think..."

"Is there any point asking what they're talking about?" Ron asked Hermione quietly.

She gave him a rueful smile. "None whatsoever, not while they're both being Slytherins. I'm just glad Severus isn't always this cryptic about everything or I think I might have killed him by now."

"Subtlety is wasted on you three," Lucius drawled mockingly, and she gave him her sweetest smile, even batting her eyelashes at him.

"I've always admired the way you carry around that huge phallic symbol so subtly, Mr Malfoy," she told him innocently, nodding towards the snake-topped cane. "You're not compensating for something, are you?"

He looked furious, but Severus had started laughing. "Don't sulk, Lucius, I've been telling you for years the stick makes you look like an idiot," he told his friend. "Stop teasing her. She'll give back as good as she gets. And fun though it is to watch you playing, we do have work to do."

"Then you're going to have to translate," Ron said.

Severus gave him a mocking look, but nodded. "The basic plan is fairly simple. Once we're all ready to move, Lucius will come to join us, and the next time he's Summoned as many of us as possible will tag along to get through the wards. We kill the Dark Lord and we get the hell out of there. Lucius and his family will drop any defences that survive his death and will kill or restrain the ones who won't give up, the ones who went to Azkaban rather than renounce him, the rabid ones. We'll give the location to whoever didn't get to go in with us and they can wade in to continue that and to arrest the ones who are smart enough or cowardly enough to listen to the Malfoys and surrender. We will have two major advantages; one is surprise, and the other is that the Dark Mark is going to hurt like nothing you can imagine when the Dark Lord dies. The Malfoys will be expecting it and there are potions that will numb it and allow them to keep functioning; the others are going to be taken off guard and will be in agony, which makes it rather difficult to concentrate on fighting."

"I can see a lot of holes in that plan," Harry objected. "It's not very definite."

"That's why we're all here, Potter," Severus told him with an air of exaggerated patience. "To iron out the details and make sure this is going to work."

"When can you be ready to move?" Lucius asked him.

"I'm not sure. We only have three former Ministry workers left in the Order now, and only one of those was an Auror. We'll need time to get as much support as possible. I don't want to have to spend the next year or so helping track down the ones who managed to run for it."

"That raises an interesting point," his friend noted. "You managed to remove your Mark?"

Severus nodded, undoing the cuff of his coat and shirt and pulling the sleeves back to show the scar on his left arm. "It worked just as I told you it should."

"He wasn't pleased that he couldn't find you."

"What a shame."

"What about the people at the Ministry?" Ron asked. "Like Umbridge? She's not a Death Eater, she won't be at this meeting or anything, but she can't be left loose to run. You said there were loads of people working for You-Know-Who who didn't have the Dark Mark."

"It depends how many people the Order can rally. We'll get as many of them as we can. We won't get them all, not by any means, but we should be able to get most. A lot of them aren't bad people, just trying to do their jobs, and many of them have families being held hostage. We'll do what we can at the Ministry, but our primary concern must be the Dark Lord and his immediate followers. Cleaning up the rest will take years, probably. You and Potter still want to be Aurors, don't you? The early years of your career will mostly consist of chasing down everyone we miss, I would imagine."

"I've thought of a problem," Hermione said. "You said we're going to be arresting the Death Eaters who surrender. Why would any of them surrender? All the inner circle are Slytherins, aren't they? They must realise they won't have anything left to lose. Nobody's going to be able to lie or bribe their way out of trouble this time. It's Azkaban, execution or the Dementor's Kiss – wouldn't they rather go down fighting?"

"A lot of them will, but hope springs eternal," Severus replied. "There will be some who want to stay alive as long as possible in the hope of wriggling out of it. And some in lower ranks who were genuinely coerced one way or another."

"Not the Malfoys," Harry said flatly, turning to stare at Lucius. "Your money won't help you this time. You don't have anything to lose either."

"Use your head, boy. I'm here to make a deal, not to offer you a helping hand. I'm doing nothing without a guarantee of immunity for myself and my wife and son."

"I can't guarantee you complete immunity," Severus told him. "I have no idea who's going to end up in charge of things or what's actually going to happen. I can promise that a few Order members will testify in your favour, and I can promise a quick end if it doesn't work out, and I think I can promise to get at least Draco out, but I can't give more than that."

"Who can you get to speak?" Lucius asked, leaning forward, his grey eyes growing intent.

Severus looked around at the three of them silently. His eyes were neutral now and he obviously wasn't going to ask the question; he simply looked at them and waited for them to respond.

Hermione thought about it for a few minutes, biting her lip. This man had done some truly terrible things. But then, so had Severus; if she didn't blame him for what he had been made to do, it seemed unfair to blame his friends in the same situation. Lucius was selfish, cold, ruthless and arrogant, but he was trying to protect his family and didn't seem to be interested in ruling the world for the sake of it but rather for them.

"If you help us, if this works out, I'll speak for you," she said finally, "although I don't know what good it would do and I'm sure you'll find it unbearably humiliating to be defended by a Muggleborn."

"Hermione," Harry protested.

"If he helps us win, it's worth it," she told him. "He'd probably find some way out of it anyway. And Draco doesn't deserve to be punished; he never had a choice."

Ron was grinning at Lucius now. "Say please."

"What?"

"You heard me, Malfoy. Say please. Ask me to do it, and I'll say you shouldn't be killed or sent to Azkaban. But you have to ask. And when this is done you have to ask my family."

The older wizard's lip curled, his eyes hardening. "Severus really has taught you well, hasn't he..."

"It's not an unreasonable request," Hermione pointed out calmly. "At some point I want an apology from Draco for all the foul things he's said about me, too."

"So how about it?" Ron asked cheerfully. His attitude was perfectly understandable, she reflected, recalling all the snide little comments and belittling remarks the Malfoys had directed at the Weasleys over the years.

"I am risking my life and the lives of my family for you, boy."

"No, you're not. You're risking your life and their lives for _you._"

"All right, that's enough. Both of you," Severus added. He flicked a hand and gave his friend a meaningful look, and Lucius sighed, standing up and walking across the floor to the shadows of the far wall, leaning on his cane with a bored expression. Hermione felt the faint buzz of _Muffliato _in her ears a moment later before Severus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Don't push him, Weasley. I know what he's like, and your family do have a lot of compelling reasons to dislike him, but you have no idea how frightening it is for any Death Eater to even contemplate betrayal. You haven't seen what happens to the ones that get caught. It has taken tremendous courage for Lucius to be standing here. There's no need to humiliate him over it. No matter how much you're enjoying it," he added as an afterthought, shaking his head as one side of his mouth twitched into an almost-smile. "Lucius is... well, he's not a good man, but he isn't a bad man either. And we need him."

"Are any of your scars because of him?" Hermione asked quietly.

He stared at her for a long moment before nodding. "One or two. He has received scars from me as well. It was a complicated situation and I'd prefer not to think about it. I won't answer questions about it, either. They are my friends and I'm going to do what I can to protect them. They would do the same for me. I won't ask it of any of you, but don't make this worse."

Ron scowled. "He at least owes my parents an apology. And he owes Ginny a lot more than that, after the thing with the diary."

"I'm sure he does, but let's save it until we're sure we've all survived this, if you please." He glanced at Hermione. "And you'll get your apology from Draco. I'll see to that. He is very fortunate he never said it within earshot of me. Other Slytherins have used that word in my hearing before, and regretted it."

She nodded, wondering briefly what his relationship with her was going to do to his friendship with the Malfoys. Oddly, Lucius didn't seem too bothered, but Draco had always despised her. She didn't want to be the reason for Severus losing any of his very few friendships. "Harry, you've been quiet. Are you going to speak up for them if we get through this?"

"I don't know yet," he replied quietly, before looking at Severus. "What's to stop V – uh, You-Know-Who reading this from their minds?"

"Narcissa is a decent Occlumens. Nowhere near as strong as I am, but strong enough. She's lied to him before to keep the location of my house a secret, if you recall my telling you that. Lucius and Draco both know enough Occlumency to keep him from being suspicious. If he has a reason to fully probe any of them, he'll eventually find out, so we must hope he doesn't."

"That's very comforting. We've got to move quickly, then, haven't we? Give him less time to find out?"

"What's on your mind, Potter? We have to give Tonks enough time to find some Aurors with shiny toys who want to come and play with us, for a start. And allow enough time for the rest of the Order to get through the inevitable bickering and disagreeing."

"I was just thinking... there's a date coming up when we know there will be a Death Eater meeting."

Severus gave him a sharp look, then smiled suddenly, a mostly sincere expression that held a hint of viciousness. "There may be hope for you yet, Potter. I _like_ it. Very poetic."

"You're talking about Halloween," Hermione realised. "That's only four days away. Is that enough time?"

"I hope so. I want this to happen then. But if we're not ready in time, then we're not, and we'll just have to wait until we are. All right, do we all agree with the plan in principle?"

"I suppose so, once we sort out the details," Harry sighed. "But if he's setting us up and we get killed, I'm haunting you."

"Being annoyed by a Potter who won't go away. However will I adjust," Severus told him sarcastically. "Weasley?"

"Yeah, I guess. He's still a slimy git, though."

"Believe me, he knows that. Hermione?"

"If you trust him and think this will work, that's good enough."

His eyes softened before he cancelled the _Muffliato _and stood up. "I'll speak to him and we can start planning in earnest."

* * *

><p>Crossing the warehouse to where Lucius stood, Severus fished his cigarettes out of his pocket again. He was smoking too much today, but it gave him something to do with his hands. "If we win, they'll speak up for you."<p>

His fellow Slytherin nodded, watching the three of them pensively. "The Granger girl, Severus? Really?" he asked finally, turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged ruefully. "Strange but true," he replied quietly, watching Lucius. He wasn't sure how his friend was going to react; Lucius was harder to read than either his wife or his son.

"I would ask if you have lost your mind, but I think that happened a long time ago." He shook his head fractionally and accepted the cigarette he was offered with a faint grimace of distaste. "I did see a ring, didn't I?"

"You did, yes."

"Unbelievable." They stood and smoked for a few moments before he drawled quietly, "Narcissa is going to be absolutely furious. You turned down all of her choices, and ended up with..." He trailed off, not stupid enough to dare say the word _Mudblood, _and Severus almost smiled.

"She'll survive. You saw some of the women she picked out, anyway – can you blame me?"

"No, I suppose not." Lucius paused. "I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her. Not even that Evans girl. But are you truly sure about this?"

Severus met his eyes calmly. "I've never been more certain of anything."

That earned him a slightly shocked look, before he nodded slowly. "Very well, then. I will see if I can talk my family around, for your sake. Draco is going to take a lot of convincing."

"He doesn't hate her because she's Muggleborn," Severus replied mockingly. "He hates her because she's smarter than he is. And because she nearly broke his nose a few years ago, and has outwitted him on several occasions."

"That's true. I suppose I am meant to congratulate you, but I hope you'll understand if I don't. At least not yet."

"Bigot. I'm living proof that you're not the blood snob you claim to be. Don't worry, I don't plan to inflict either of you on one another often. I don't do socialising anyway and I can't see you getting along." Not for a while, anyway, although he thought they might, in time. "You're probably going to have to attend the wedding, though."

"Absolutely not."

"Lucius, you're my only male friend, as incredibly sad as that is. If not you, I'm going to be stuck with Potter, Merlin help me, and I don't think it would be a terribly good omen if I end up murdering my bride's best friend before the end of the ceremony."

"We'll discuss it later."

"We will indeed," he agreed mildly, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the rough concrete underfoot. "Are you sure you want to do this? If you're caught..."

"It's been worse than you can imagine, Severus. I wasn't exaggerating for the benefit of your little playmates. I understand your complete lack of fear now. I'm not sure I care what happens to me as long as this stops. He has become something terrible. I don't have the words for it; you're the eloquent one. What he'll do to me if he catches me is the same as he'll do to me if he doesn't, except quicker. There's nothing left to lose any more. If anyone can pull this off, it's you. Frankly I've half-considered joining you for more than a year; this isn't what I wanted when we were young."

Wordlessly Severus gripped his friend's shoulder. "I know. You don't have to explain yourself to me. And you have my word I will do everything I can to keep you, Narcissa and Draco clear of reprisal."

"Because that worked out so well last time," Lucius told him sarcastically, shrugging off the sentiment briskly as his voice returned to its usual mocking drawl. "How did you break the Unbreakable Vow, anyway? And seriously, how on earth did you end up with the Granger girl? You and I have a great deal of catching up to do, I imagine."

"Hah. Yes, we certainly do. It's far too long a story to go into now, though. Buy me a drink or several when this is over and I'll tell you... certainly most of it."

"Very well. I suppose you had better return to babysitting, then, and inform the Order so they have time to be completely ineffective."

"I would hope they won't be _completely _ineffective... I don't really want to have to do all this by myself. Very well, then. I'll send an owl when we're ready to move. Potter's bird is too recognisable... watch for Weasley's owl. It's an insane little Scops, don't let Diogenes eat it. Let's get this over with, shall we? I don't know about you, but I've got a life waiting for me."

* * *

><p>"Well, that was mildly entertaining," Severus observed as he drew back from the fireplace and the flames turned from green to orange once more. "A little like kicking an ant's nest. Everyone at Headquarters going to be very busy for a few days; be glad we're out of the way."<p>

"What is actually happening there?" Harry asked, and Severus shrugged as he stood up stiffly and stretched.

"Arthur, Percy and Tonks are off visiting their old Ministry friends, especially Tonks' contacts among the Aurors. Mostly they're gathering support and finding people willing to fight, but they're also sounding out the people who are still there, working out who is going to be trouble – like Umbridge, for example. Everyone else is doing much the same, finding old friends who would be willing to help. They think we've got a good chance of being ready by Halloween. Minerva's not happy about the first part of the plan, but there really is no way to get into a Death Eater meeting without being a Death Eater or being taken in by a Death Eater and there's no way of moving large numbers in."

"So we stick to the plan, then," Hermione summarised. "Part one, people go in with Mr Malfoy and take out You-Know-Who. Then the Malfoys start taking advantage of the chaos while our people get outside and contact the Order with the location, and everyone else piles in to help."

"That's about it, yes." He crossed the room and dropped to sprawl inelegantly in his usual armchair, smiling slightly when she forsook her own seat to come and sit with him, nestling comfortably against his shoulder. "We need to discuss who is going in with Lucius," he said quietly.

"I thought all four of us were going," Harry objected, and Severus lifted a hand.

"Hear me out; this is important. I am certainly going in, and I have no objection to any of you three accompanying me _if _that's how we decide to play things, but I don't think you've thought this through. This isn't going to be a fair fight. It's an assassination. We won't be going in to duel him, we'll be going in to kill him. It's murder. None of you have ever tried to use a lethal spell with the intent to kill another. If you're going to hesitate, even for a second, I don't want you at my back. This is dangerous and we cannot afford to make a mistake; we will never get another chance. If he survives now, we may never be able to stop him."

During the short silence that followed, Hermione thought about what he had said. Killing Voldemort had always been the goal, but she hadn't really paused to think about what that would actually mean; she had never imagined she would be part of the final stages, somehow, even though she was one of Harry's best friends and it had always been almost certain that he would be there at the end. Voldemort definitely deserved to die, he had to be killed, but... she tried to imagine herself doing it and bit her lip, suppressing a shiver.

Severus obviously felt it, as he slid an arm around her shoulders before speaking again. "You are the only ones who can decide. I don't know if any of you can do this the way it needs to be done. Don't answer now; we have a few days before we have to do this. We can practice casting spells immediately in the wake of Side-Along Apparition, since that is horribly disorientating under the best of circumstances. There are other things you can do if you decide you can't actually use the Killing Curse – shields, for example, or joining the Order's teams on standby. There is no shame in saying no; there is nothing wrong with not being able to commit murder without hesitation."

"I have to be there," Harry said quietly. "I don't mean the prophecy. I have to be there."

"I understand wanting revenge, Potter. But you don't fight to kill, even when you should. You're known for trying Disarming charms in the stupidest of circumstances..."

"That's a point," Hermione interrupted. "Sorry, Severus. But what about Harry's wand? It shares a core with You-Know-Who, remember. The _Priori Incantatem _effect?"

"Oh, bollocks. I'd forgotten all about that." Severus frowned. "Well, it shouldn't matter. The whole point of this plan is that the Dark Lord won't have time to cast anything. If you go in, Potter, and if it does happen, drop your wand and run for it before the link forms and locks you into it."

"I know, I know, don't be a hero. I'm still going in."

"I told you, don't answer yet. I don't know if you can commit deliberate murder without flinching, Potter, not even against the man who killed your parents. You aren't a sociopath. I also don't know what it will do to you afterwards; you are less psychologically stable than either of your friends, and you could be vulnerable. Killing someone will affect you. It isn't easy; you need to think it through and you need to be absolutely sure you can do it."

"Can _you_?" Hermione asked him softly, shifting a little to look up at him. "You've told me a little about why you joined them, what he once meant to you."

He nodded. "That's a fair question, but yes, I can. I've had practice. I have no idea how I'm going to feel afterwards – probably rather messed up, I suspect – but I can push everything away until it's over. I'll want the Elder Wand, too," he added. "Magically speaking, I am stronger than you, and closer to the Dark Arts."

"I never planned to use it for anything as big as an Unforgiveable," she assured him, more relieved than otherwise. "You should have it, anyway. It seems... right." She hesitated. "I'm not sure if I can kill someone who isn't actively trying to kill me at that moment," she admitted softly.

Severus nodded, his arm tightening around her shoulders. "That's why I'm bringing this up now, to give you all a chance to think about it. Few people can kill in cold blood. When I was your age, I couldn't do so easily. The Order gloss over the darker side of this war, they always have. They hide behind euphemisms, they spend hours justifying everything. This is murder, and you need to be aware of that before we go in. All of you have earned the right to come with me and put an end to this, but that doesn't mean you have to, or even that you should."

"What do you think we should do?" Ron asked. "I know you said you didn't know if we could do it or not, but you must have some idea."

He looked thoughtful. "I'm really not sure, Weasley. I know you're all capable of killing in self defence, and if this were a big dramatic battle I wouldn't be thinking about it at all, but this is different. If we went in now, none of you could, but with time to steel yourselves and gear yourselves up to it, perhaps. It's for you all to decide individually."

Harry grinned suddenly. "I'm a bit surprised you haven't tried to keep Hermione out of this, actually."

Severus nodded a little ruefully as Hermione sat up to look at him sharply. "I thought about it. If I thought for one moment she might actually listen, I would have done, but short of physically knocking her out and chaining her up somewhere, it's not possible."

"Severus..." she said warningly.

"Oh, stop it. You should know I don't mean it as a comment on your abilities, nor do I see you as a porcelain figurine in need of protection. I would simply feel happier if I didn't have to worry about you, that's all."

"I could say the same to you," she retorted.

"Which is precisely why I haven't tried to keep you away." He gave her an amused look as she scowled at him, and finally she relented and leaned against his shoulder again as his arm settled around her once more. "So, take the rest of today to start thinking things over, all of you. Tomorrow we start preparing, and in a few days this will all be over at last."

* * *

><p><em>We're very close to the end now...<br>_


	59. Chapter 59

_I really am sorry this has taken so long; I just didn't have enough free time to sit and work on this properly. Here we go!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed.<br>Dummy with the rapture and the reverent in the right - right.  
>You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light,<br>Feeling pretty psyched.  
>It's the end of the world as we know it.<br>It's the end of the world as we know it.  
>It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.<strong>**.."**  
>– REM, 'It's The End Of The World.'<p>

* * *

><p>Deep moral questions weren't really something Hermione had ever needed to struggle with before. The closest she had come to anything like this was wondering if she should tell someone about whatever stupidity Harry and Ron had done now; she had certainly never had to contemplate murder before. Now, with only one more day to go before they faced Voldemort one final time, she lay in the darkness of their bedroom listening absently to Severus' breathing and thought it over again. Her lover was awake, judging by the lack of quiet snoring, but only just, and didn't seem inclined to move or speak yet.<p>

Murder. It wasn't easy to contemplate. Jokes and the odd fit of temper aside, she wasn't a violent person, and certainly not a fighter, not unless she really had to be. Voldemort was a monster, but even so... No, she acknowledged finally. She couldn't do this. Not coldly, not the way she would need to. She knew she would hesitate, and that would endanger everyone else with her. So that was the big question out of the way; now she just had to decide what she was going to do instead, because she certainly wasn't going to stand aside completely.

In an ideal world, she wanted to go in with Severus and watch his back. But realistically, he didn't need her there; for the past two days the four of them had been practicing in a variety of remote locations, learning to cast spells while still dizzy from Side-Along Apparition – including the Killing Curse, although since according to Severus they were all too soft-hearted to kill animals, they hadn't had any targets to aim at – and learning to simply move more quickly, and Severus' reflexes were like nothing any of them had ever seen. He didn't need anyone to watch his back, not for something as quick as this, and her presence was more likely to distract him and give him something else to worry about. He knew how to look after himself. She just had to trust that and try not to worry just for the sake of worrying.

"You're unnaturally tense for this time of the morning," Severus murmured behind her, tightening his arm around her waist. "Stop thinking so hard."

"And you're unusually coherent for this time of the morning," she retorted affectionately, cuddling back against him. "Complete sentences and everything."

"Very funny." She heard him gently blow some hair away from his face, a very familiar gesture by now. "Have you made your decision, then?" he asked.

"I have." Wriggling until he loosened his arm, she rolled over and settled down facing him. "I'm not going in." He nodded, not looking remotely surprised, and she smiled ruefully. "And you already knew I was going to say that."

Severus shook his head, smiling a little in return. "Suspected, not knew. You're not a murderer, Hermione. You'd kill in a heartbeat to protect others, but I didn't think you could do it deliberately. What do you plan to do instead?"

"I think I'd be best sticking with Poppy outside in case people get hurt," she decided quietly, thinking aloud. "I'll be nearby if I'm needed, but I think we have enough fighters, and she's our only Healer." She eyed him warily for a moment. "Don't you dare look relieved."

His smile broadened a little. "I wouldn't dare."

Hermione snorted softly and settled closer. "So it'll just be the three of you, then, I suppose."

He shook his head. "Weasley talked to me last night before I came to bed. He wants to go in afterwards with his family."

"Why didn't he tell all of us?" she asked curiously.

"He wasn't sure how Potter would take the news. Since first year you've all subconsciously had this plan that the three of you would stick together and he didn't want to be the one to break the unofficial pact." Severus stretched and settled down again. "Frankly I think of the three of you he's the best equipped to cope with what we're going to do, but it's his decision, and I admit I want to see the full Weasley family together. I want to see how many of them match their parents, and they do work very well as a unit."

She nodded agreement, automatically snuggling closer against him. "I can't see Harry deciding to hang back, though. You don't want him to go in, do you?"

"Not really, but not because I don't think he can do it. Rather the opposite, in fact; I think he'll find it easy, once he's made his mind up. And in a day or two, the first time he's alone for long enough to think about what he's done and how it felt, it's going to hit him very hard. He is the least stable of us. Still, as with Weasley, it is his decision, and really he deserves to be there. He'll recover in time."

"And you?" she asked softly.

"I don't know how this is going to affect me," he told her honestly. "I won't know until it's done. But I'll be all right. It won't be the death itself that bothers me, but... he was important to me once. I hate him now, but once I didn't. That conflict is going to feel rather strange afterwards, I think, as it did with Dumbledore."

Hermione nodded against his chest, trailing her fingers down his back absently as she thought things over again. "Of course, technically, we've all been committing murder by slow degrees since Harry stabbed the diary and destroyed the first Horcrux," she observed after a few minutes. "How many fragments of a soul do you need to destroy before it counts as murder?"

"Now there's an interesting legal and ethical debate," he replied, sounding amused. "It's a very good point, but one I think you should probably keep between the two of us."

"I planned to." Closing her eyes, she smiled ruefully to herself, musing on how weird her life had become as Severus fell into his usual absent-minded habit of playing with her hair, working some of the night's tangles out carefully with his fingers. Sometimes it was still jarring to confront just how different the Muggle and wizarding worlds really were, and how much her life had changed in the past couple of years. "You know, Severus, when all this is done, you really should paint something for Phineas and Dilys."

He snorted a soft laugh. "What on earth for?"

"Well, I know they drove you mad doing it, but without them interfering shamelessly so often, I doubt we'd be here now."

"Hmm. I suppose you're right, at that," he agreed wryly. "I shall think about it."

"Would you ever have made a move on your own?" Hermione asked him curiously.

"In all honesty, no," he replied quietly, abandoning her hair to slide his arms around her. "Well, I'm not sure whether the Fiendfyre would still have pushed me far enough off balance to kiss you or not; I know you worked out I certainly didn't plan to do it. But failing that, no, I doubt that I would have said or done anything. Would you?"

"...I don't know," she admitted. "It would depend how this year worked out, I suppose, whether or not you'd gone through with killing Dumbledore when you were supposed to and whether we were staying here with you or not. I think it would have taken something unusual, but I'd like to think I would have found the courage once the war was done." She grinned. "Or just got you drunk."

That made him laugh. "You're a wicked woman," he chided lightly, snuggling closer and relaxing once more. After a few minutes he observed, "You've tensed up again. Stop fretting about tomorrow."

"Severus, you've known me for over six years. That's more than long enough for you to realise I'm not going to stop worrying just because you tell me not to," she retorted.

"Point taken." He sighed. "I can't promise you everything's going to be all right. In an ideal world all our people will come out without a scratch, but life doesn't work like that. I can promise you we're as well prepared as we could possibly be and that all risks have been minimised. It's not likely that anyone will be seriously hurt."

She had to smile; he really was absolutely useless at being reassuring, since he flatly refused to lie or to say anything that could be proved wrong later. As quirks went, she supposed this was relatively harmless, and it was oddly rather sweet actually. "It doesn't make any difference, you know that. I'd be worrying no matter how safe or unsafe it was going to be. I always do." After a moment she lifted her head to look at him. "Severus, I want you to promise me something."

"Name it," he said promptly, somewhat to her surprise.

Keeping eye contact, she said quietly, "I want you to promise me you'll be careful. I know you, and I know how careless you can be with your own safety sometimes. I know your life has never mattered all that much to you and I know you won't hesitate to risk death if you think it will help achieve your goals. Please promise me you'll try to stay safe."

Several different emotions flickered rapidly through his dark eyes as he propped himself up on his elbow, returning her gaze without blinking. After a short pause he replied softly, "I promise."

Hermione blinked at him. "That was easy. I expected you to argue more."

He half-smiled, his eyes softening. "You're right that my life doesn't matter to me, but I know it matters to you. I can imagine how I would feel if you were to get yourself killed stupidly; I do not intend to do that to you. I promise I will be careful."

Tangling a hand in his hair, she leaned in and kissed him. When their lips parted, she smiled at him. "That was a good answer."

"Yes?" he asked, his lips twitching as he fought back a smirk.

"A very good answer," she told him, kissing him again. "You're getting the hang of this."

"Thanks very much," he mumbled against her mouth as his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss.

* * *

><p>Halloween was always a tense time for any Death Eater. The Dark Lord liked the symbolism of the night of Samhain and somehow used it as an excuse to indulge himself. It hadn't been so bad in this war, when he'd been trying to keep his return more or less a secret, but in the first war... Horror beyond most people's imaginings, frankly. And then, of course, in 1981, everything had gone wrong rather spectacularly for both sides.<p>

Severus didn't like thinking about that night. He didn't remember much of it very clearly, but what he did remember still occasionally haunted his dreams. He really had lost _everything,_ in the space of an hour, and it had taken years for him to recover from the trauma. Most of his memories didn't really hurt much any more, but those ones still had very sharp edges, and he took care to keep them deeply buried now. It was a distraction he couldn't afford.

He looked around. Most of the higher-ranking Order members stood around in small groups, all pretending quite hard that they were relaxed and calm; it was odd to see so many people in the Shrieking Shack, but the meeting place hadn't been his idea. There actually weren't that many present, although it was quite hard to tell because of all the Weasleys; many of the Order and most of their unranked allies were at the Ministry or at the homes of other targets, all carefully getting into position and all armed with golden Galleons – they were using Hermione's DA coin idea to co-ordinate this.

Hermione herself was off to one side with Poppy, apparently deep in discussion. He watched her for a moment, admiring how calm she seemed; even he found it hard to spot how nervous she was. Neither of them had slept much last night, or talked much this morning, which he was privately quite thankful for – no tearful farewells; they would be separated for twenty minutes at the most and he refused to make a dramatic production out of things. He refused to consider the possibility of anything going wrong; he was determined to get out of this more or less intact and keep his promise.

His dark eyes wandered around the room. The younger Weasleys didn't seem to be taking this seriously, indulging in their usual horseplay and jokes, but he'd taught them all for years and knew they weren't stupid. They knew what was at stake. So did a lot of their friends; most of the squads of Order members working elsewhere had a few former students helping them. Inevitably most were from Gryffindor, and a lot of those were ex-DA members, but there were plenty of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too. Severus had suggested a few former Slytherins who would be willing to help, but he'd been outvoted unanimously, and since he was no longer Head of House and it was no longer his problem if nobody trusted the Snakes, he hadn't argued.

Skipping over the lower-ranked Order members that he didn't really know personally, he focused on the other large clump of people, which consisted of Molly, Arthur, Minerva, Tonks and Lupin. They were talking quietly, probably going over the plan yet again and rehearsing the locations and targets of all the little groups, and despite the outward calm he could see the gleam in the eyes of the older three. Today had been a long time coming.

Finally Severus glanced aside at Potter, standing near him with a rather distant expression on his face. They looked at one another silently for a moment before the boy grinned. "I've been waiting my whole life for this."

"No, you haven't," Severus corrected him automatically. "You've been waiting six years. You possess the maturity of a six year old, admittedly, but that is not your entire life."

Potter continued grinning, no longer bothered by the mild insult. "Yeah, yeah." The two of them were never going to be friends, but they had reached a decent understanding, and Severus wasn't worried about having the younger wizard with him today. There was a lovely poetic symmetry in having the two of them be the ones to do this, and on this day of all days. The grin faded and those green eyes looked more serious, turning inwards again, and Severus turned away once more, leaving the boy to his introspection. Glancing again at Hermione, he turned his attention to the Elder Wand in his hand, absently turning it over in his fingers; it was a shame the Dark Lord wasn't going to get enough time to recognise it, really. This too was nicely ironic.

The sharp _crack _of Apparition outside caused instant total silence as everyone stopped talking and looked at him. Severus held up a hand for quiet and listened until a series of sharp taps sounded as someone hit the door with a stick of some kind; he counted the beats, reasonably certain that even Hermione wasn't very likely to recognise the Imperial March from Star Wars and wondering idly what Lucius would think if he ever found out what this signal was. When the taps stopped, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled the next line piercingly, somewhat relieved that he could still do it, and Lucius opened the door and sauntered in. He was wearing his Death Eater robe but had foregone the mask, which was probably for the best.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he drawled, looking around. "My, don't we all look... heroic... today."

Everyone stared back at him in stony-faced silence; nobody was happy with their only choice of ally. Lucius smirked, completely unruffled, and walked over to Severus, his cane tapping on the floor; Severus saw instantly that his old friend was nervous and smirked back at him as they traded brief forearm grips.

"So, just you and our young hero here?" Lucius asked, glancing briefly at Potter. "I thought everyone would want to come along..." _Including your young woman, _was the unspoken qualification. Severus shrugged.

"Don't complain. You should be thankful you don't have to tow half of us in with you. Did you get the numbing agent for your Dark Mark?"

"Yes, and as you instructed Narcissa and Draco have already used it enough to mostly deaden sensation. We tested it yesterday and worked out how much was needed to allow us to feel a Summons without pain, and we have warned Draco how much it is likely to hurt." He looked thoughtful. "Will it hurt as much as last time, do you suppose?"

"I really have no idea. Best to assume it will." Severus repressed a shiver, remembering how badly it had hurt last time. Worse than the Cruciatus, for certain, and all concentrated in one spot; his arm had been virtually unusable for two days afterwards, as far as he recalled, although his memories of that time were a little sketchy now.

"What time do you think you'll be Summoned?" Potter asked in a very carefully polite voice.

Lucius made a show of checking his pocket watch, although since he'd been on time getting here he knew what time it was already. "Not for a couple of hours yet, Potter. Sometime after sundown," he replied in the same carefully polite tone, so careful that it was its own form of mockery.

Minerva walked over to them. Her eyes were hard as she bent her head a fraction in greeting. "Lucius."

By contrast, Lucius swept a formal and elegant bow. "Professor McGonagall."

Hermione had drifted closer to listen; Severus saw her repress a smile and bit back one of his own. It took real style to make such a greeting so insulting; Lucius was an insufferable smart-arse and always would be. It was one reason the two Slytherins got along so well.

Minerva scowled at him. "How many will we be facing?"

"Most of them will listen to me, and many will be too busy clutching their arms and screaming to put up much of a fight," Lucius assured her. "You will face serious resistance from perhaps a dozen, and my family and I will do our best to subdue as many as possible while we still retain the element of surprise."

"What of Bella?" Severus asked quietly. "She is the only one who can challenge your attempt to take control of things, and I would prefer she didn't try to chase me. I'm not going to be in the mood for a duel."

"Narcissa's going to take care of it," Lucius replied quietly, and he blinked, somewhat startled. Thinking about it, he nodded slowly; it made sense, in a rather tragic sort of way.

Potter stared. "She's going to kill her own sister?" he asked blankly.

Lucius gave him a rather tired look. "Her sister died years ago, Mr Potter. Bellatrix as she is now is a rabid animal, beyond saving. And Narcissa has wanted her dead for months," he added quietly, something dark flashing through his grey eyes. "As have I."

_Oh, God. _Severus swallowed hard. "Draco?" he made himself ask, shivering.

His friend's expression was grim and cold. "Yes. He has nightmares now. But he wasn't hurt, really. He'll recover. Especially since he intends to help Narcissa."

"Good."

Hermione was closer now, and observed quietly, "We don't want you to translate that bit, do we."

"No," Severus and Lucius said in unison, exchanging a rather bitter smile.

With unusual tact, Potter broke the strained atmosphere by observing light-heartedly, "By the way, Mr Malfoy, I'll give Dobby your regards."

Aware of Hermione smothering a giggle, Severus gave his friend an amused look, recalling listening to Lucius ranting about the trick with the sock. It was the first time he had ever been impressed by anything Potter had done.

Typically, Lucius refused to show irritation, merely observing coolly, "Even for a house elf, the creature was peculiar. You're welcome to him." He had a point there, Severus reflected; most Malfoy elves tended to be a little odd, actually.

Minerva cleared her throat pointedly. "Entertaining as this is, we have more important matters to discuss..."

"No, we don't," Severus interrupted. "Everyone knows the plan, Minerva. We're as prepared as we are ever going to be. The more you insist on repeating it, the more nervous people are going to get. Go and stop your Gryffindors winding one another up any further."

"Your allies are rather jumpy," Lucius remarked as she departed with a glare.

"I can't imagine why," Hermione told him airily, giving Severus a quick smile before retreating back across the room to continue her talk with Poppy.

The older Slytherin chuckled softly. "I'm starting to see why you like her. Narcissa knows, by the way, but we haven't informed Draco yet. He has enough to deal with at the moment."

"Fair enough," Severus conceded. "How did Narcissa react?"

"She asked me if I was drunk. After I convinced her that I wasn't, she asked me if _you _were."

He snorted a quiet laugh at that, well able to imagine it. He was reasonably certain that Hermione and Lucius would learn to tolerate one another quite well, in time, and he was equally sure she and Draco would never get along at all but would learn to fake it. As for her and Narcissa, though... he rather thought they would end up killing one another, actually. Or, rather more worryingly, forming a very dangerous alliance at the expense of himself and Lucius and dooming them both. "Even I would struggle to remain intoxicated for this long," he replied idly. "There was no alcohol involved on either side." _A bit of a first for me, actually, _he reflected in some amusement.

"And what are your thoughts on this, Potter?" Lucius inquired. "Your antagonistic relationship with Severus is virtually legend."

The boy grinned ruefully. "Well, we've sort of worked that out, more or less. As for the two of them... Hermione's been my best friend for years. I'm not daft enough to try and tell her who she can pick. She's smart enough to know what she's doing, I guess."

"A ringing endorsement if ever I heard one," he drawled. "What of young Miss Weasley and yourself, then?"

"Small talk, Lucius? Really?" Severus asked, amused.

"If I am to be stuck here for the next few hours, what else do you suggest I do? I doubt you brought a deck of cards with you." The two men exchanged swift grins, recalling a lot of late-night card games dating right back to their schooldays – poker was a game that was much more interesting when the players could use magic and were both shameless and quite skilled cheats.

Potter cleared his throat rather pointedly. "Yeah, we're going to be having a talk about Ginny when this is done."

"I quiver with fear," Lucius told him sarcastically, before giving Severus a puzzled look. "Why do people keep implying that I have done something to apologise for? So the diary was cursed, it's hardly my fault nobody in her family or the school spotted it, and I fail to see how it's linked to the Chamber of Secrets."

"Ah... I forgot that you don't know. The diary turned out to be a little more than merely cursed."

Lucius looked blank for a moment before his eyes widened in something akin to horror. "Tell me you're joking."

Severus shook his head, absently reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. "No. I myself didn't know until recently, but the diary was a Horcrux."

His friend swore under his breath in fluent Greek. Potter looked blank. "You didn't know?"

"Of course not," Lucius snapped at him. "Don't be foolish, boy. Do you think I would have knowingly kept something that dangerous in my house, near my family? Or knowingly unleashed it at the school my son attends? Or even that the Dark Lord would have told anyone how he had extended his life?" He looked a little shaken for a moment, before briskly putting his usual disdainful mask back into place and pulling himself together. "Just how many were there, Severus?"

"Seven, all told, although he only intended to create six. It's a complicated story."

"_Seven?_" Lucius repeated. He knew enough about the Dark Arts to be passably familiar with Horcruxes; Severus knew he was imagining what that many splits would do to someone's soul. After a long moment he said quietly, trying to sound matter of fact about it, "Well, I suppose that would explain a great deal. It explains why he has gone completely insane, too."

"Is it that bad now?" Severus asked quietly, recalling again the jarring horror of facing what his master had become when the second war had started.

Tellingly, Lucius didn't make a joke or a snide remark; he simply met his friend's eyes and replied quietly, "Yes."

Severus cocked his head to one side, regarding his fellow Slytherin pensively, before nodding. "In a week or two, when everything's calmed down, we'll meet and talk properly," he said softly. Lucius nodded and looked away, turning to scrutinise the Order members, wandering off into his own thoughts by the look of things. Doing the same, Severus half-closed his eyes and called up his Occlumency defences, slowly and patiently pushing everything down away from him and moving into the quiet, cold, dark place he went when he needed to kill. At least this would be the last time he had to act the Death Eater.

* * *

><p>In the end, everything happened very quickly, shortly after sundown. Severus was roused from his meditation by Lucius touching his shoulder; nodding, he stood and stretched. The movement attracted the attention of the others, and everyone fell silent, looking at him. "Get ready," he said softly, rolling his shoulders and loosening his muscles. "We move in ten minutes." Long enough to ensure that Lucius was the last one there. Narcissa and Draco would be among the first in, taking their places and waiting just as anxiously.<p>

Potter immediately went over to his girlfriend; frankly, Severus thought that was a bad idea, since it would only upset the two of them. Still, he didn't object when Hermione crossed the room to him, although she didn't try to touch him; not only did she know his stance on tearful farewells, particularly in public, but she knew him well enough to see he was Occluding strongly and needed distance to maintain his careful mental state. She looked like she was trying not to cry, if he was any judge, but she was holding herself together admirably and her voice was completely level and calm when she finally told him, "Remember your promise."

He made himself try to smile, for her sake, although it was difficult to show any emotion at all when he was like this. "As if I would forget." Probably he should be telling her he loved her, but there were a lot of people listening, and it seemed so contrived, so clichéd to say it now. Besides, it wasn't as if she didn't know. "I'll see you shortly," he said finally, looking away, and she returned to the others as a pale-faced Potter came back to join him. "You can still say no," he told the boy softly.

He shook his head stubbornly. "No. I'm going."

Severus shrugged and moved to Lucius' left, and the three of them stood quietly watching the Slytherin's pocket watch slowly ticking away the last few minutes of the Dark Lord's life. Finally Lucius put the watch away and wordlessly rolled his sleeve back; Severus gripped his friend's shoulder with one hand and closed the other firmly around the Elder Wand, vaguely aware of Potter on the other side, and Lucius touched the Dark Mark.

Following the Mark was never quite the same as normal Apparition, since someone else was indirectly in control of the destination. That made it easier, but it also made the disorientation afterwards worse, although you had to have done both quite often to really notice. As soon as they arrived Lucius wrenched away from them and jumped back; Severus had only a fraction of a second to notice a large dimly lit room as he turned, firelight blurring his vision as he scanned the faceless masks.

Time slowed. He seemed to have all the time in the world to see the Dark Lord's flat, reptilian features and gleaming red eyes, still frozen in momentary surprise. All the time in the world to raise the Deathstick and take a deep breath, his mind completely empty of all thought, all emotion, everything except the plan. That cold certainty filled his head with white noise as he took aim and said, quietly, "_Avada Kedavra._" Distantly he was aware of another voice, of Lily's son standing with him, but it was very distant indeed as green fire streaked through the shadows and power flared through him, brighter and fiercer and uglier than he had ever known it, making bile burn the back of his throat and making his stomach clench.

He turned away as the spell hit, and time seemed to speed up again as sound and colour returned in a rush and things began to happen around him. He Seizing Potter's arm, he saw a window, which meant a single wall between them and outside; no time to think now. Breaking into a run, he lifted his wand again and spat a word and blew half the wall away as screams began to erupt, sprinting straight out into the night without pausing.

Once he was far enough away for darkness to hide him, he stopped and turned, trying to find out where the hell they were, and found a breathless Potter beside him. Good. People might be angry if he lost the boy now. "Patronus, Potter, now," he rasped, recognising the building. "Tell Minerva, Scrimgeour's old house."

"Your Patronus?" the boy asked, closing his eyes and concentrating. He was shaking.

Severus shook his head. "I can't yet." He watched the silver stag streaking into the darkness, shivering fitfully, choosing to ignore it when Potter leaned against him afterwards; your first Killing Curse was always a little draining, and he wasn't feeling too good right now either. In fact, he was trying not to be sick. It had been a long time since he'd had to do that, and the Elder Wand really hadn't helped.

"We did it," the boy said rather numbly. "Didn't we?"

"Yes." There was a lot of screaming. Severus realised absently he was scratching the scar on his left arm where his own Dark Mark had been; it was tingling unpleasantly, but he wasn't sure if it was physical or psychological. Both, probably. Sharp _cracks _indicated the Order arriving in pairs, each with specific targets, and he watched them enter the building with drawn wands, making no attempt to stop Potter when he suddenly whooped and raised his wand and charged off back into the fight. He wasn't at all surprised.

* * *

><p>The top floor of the house was on fire when Hermione arrived with Poppy. That probably wasn't a good sign, but there were already a number of robed and masked figures sitting morosely on the lawn cradling their left arms, and one or two unconscious figures stretched out beside them. Lucius Malfoy was with them; he inclined his head to her briefly in a shallow nod before returning to his conversation with one of the others. Bill was standing guard, and gave them a friendly wave.<p>

Helping Poppy unpack the potions and other supplies they had brought with them, Hermione looked around, refusing to admit she was fretting because Harry had sent a Patronus and Severus hadn't. It wasn't as if he was likely to be in a very happy mood after murdering his former master – he hadn't been last time, after all. Tonks and Mrs Weasley emerged from the house, levitating another unconscious or dead Death Eater between them, and paused briefly to talk to Bill.

"This is the weirdest battle I've ever seen," Hermione noted distantly.

Poppy chuckled softly. "Be thankful for that. At this rate we're going to be patching up captives rather than our own people. Stop staring around like that, I'm sure he's fine," she added without missing a beat. "He's probably right in the thick of the fighting as usual."

"Actually, no, he's not," Severus' voice said quietly behind them.

Almost weak with relief, Hermione spun around to look at him. His eyes were very distant and Occluded, almost cloudy, similar to the way he had looked after Dumbledore died, and his face was expressionless, but he was obviously unhurt. She smiled at him as he moved closer, and somewhat to her surprise he pulled her into his arms and hugged her very tightly without saying anything before silently letting go and hunkering down on his heels to watch the house, absently rubbing his left arm.

Pretending not to have noticed this, Poppy nodded to him cheerfully. "Not helping the others, Severus?"

He shook his head distantly. "This isn't my fight any more. I've done enough. I've _had _enough," he replied softly, wrapping his arms around himself and continuing to stare at the house as Narcissa Malfoy emerged and crossed to stand beside her husband; a moment later Draco appeared and trotted over to them, followed by Fleur, who started talking to Bill.

Hermione knelt beside him and he wordlessly leaned against her, starting to shiver almost unnoticeably. "Where did Harry go?"

"Where do you think?" he retorted, trying to sound like his usual self as he gestured vaguely towards the house. "He's gone giddy. Little idiot. Disregarding everything I taught you."

"He always reacts weirdly to adrenaline. I think it's a Quidditch thing. Or maybe just a boy thing. And don't you dare say it's a Gryffindor thing," she added, smiling a little before leaning against him slightly harder. "Are you all right?"

"...I don't really know," he replied after a pause. "I've been working for this night for longer than you've been alive, Hermione. And now – I don't know," he ended rather abruptly. After a moment he drew the Elder Wand from somewhere in his clothing and handed it to her. "For future reference... don't use this for Unforgiveables."

Suppressing a shiver, she took it from him and shoved it into her belt out of the way, pulling her shirt down over it. "I can imagine. Okay. Hang on for half an hour or so, and we should be done here, as long as nobody got seriously hurt. Then we can go home. Sound good?"

He nodded wearily and tried to summon a rather unsuccessful smile before cocking his head and glancing back at the house. "Here comes trouble."

Hermione looked up to see the twins weaving unsteadily towards her; Fred was cradling his obviously broken arm and George's face was covered in blood, but they were both grinning maniacally. "Hi Hermione, hello Madam Pomfrey. Oops, hello Professor, didn't see you there," George said cheerfully. "Um. Little help?"

"What did you do this time?" Hermione asked, gripping Fred's wrist and examining his arm.

"I don't really know," he told her brightly. "It's all moving a bit fast in there. We saw Mum fighting, though! That was awesome!"

"In a really, really scary way," his twin added, wincing as Poppy began clearing the blood from his face. "_Really _scary."

"Is there any point asking you two what's actually happening in there?" Severus asked acidly, sounding a lot more like his usual public persona.

"You mean who's dead and stuff? No idea, sir," George replied as Hermione repaired Fred's arm. "The fire's starting to spread and almost all the other guys are still wearing their masks. I don't think many people are dead though. It looks like it's worked. Oh, hello Professor," he added as McGonagall limped wearily over to them.

"Hello, boys, Hermione. Poppy. Severus."

"Are you all right, Minerva?" Poppy asked, straightening up. "All right, Mr Weasley, you're fine. Don't even think of going back in there. Sit over there out of the way and try to behave, both of you."

"Don't fuss, Poppy, I'm fine. I'm getting too old for this, that's all."

Severus snorted quietly. "Please. We all know what you'd do to anyone else who dared to say that. Any word from the others yet?"

She held up a couple of Galleons. "I've just been checking them. All primary targets acquired. They're going for the secondaries now but word's already starting to spread, a couple of them have already gone. Our people are getting in touch with the _Prophet _as we speak; the first newspapers will be reporting _Voldemort's _death within three hours," she said in a satisfied tone.

"What's happening inside?" Hermione asked.

"Your friends are fine, Hermione. Arthur's babysitting while Molly, Remus and Tonks deal with the last few. I have to admit, the Malfoys did well. I wasn't sure it would happen."

"Lucius will be touched," Severus muttered. "Have them bring out the bodies. We need to be sure we've got everyone. And the world will want proof that _he's _really dead. We didn't have a corpse last time."

Hermione strongly suspected that Severus himself wanted proof of that. If he had been following the plan, he wouldn't have waited around to see if it had worked; it made sense that he would want to see the body to make sure. "Speaking of Mr Malfoy, what's happening to the Death Eaters who surrendered?" she asked. "Are they under arrest?"

"They will be, when we get around to it. We're going to have to find someone to act as temporary Minister until things are sorted. It's going to take a while to sort out the legalities."

"Then let the Malfoys go home," she suggested. "Under guard if we can spare anyone, but I don't think they're going to run. They'll lose if they do. There's no point them staying here, and the ones who haven't co-operated aren't going to be pleased to see them. Maybe send the ones who surrendered with them, or something. It will give us less to deal with here."

Severus gave her a grateful look for that; he obviously wasn't in a talkative mood and clearly just wanted everything to be over.

Professor McGonagall nodded distractedly. "We plan to, don't worry. Tonks managed to rally most of the Aurors; as soon as their teams complete their assignments, areas of the Ministry will be available for use and we'll have guards. It will take us about an hour to get temporary arrangements in place; then we can all relax for a little while before starting to sort things out."

* * *

><p>One by one the others emerged from the house over the course of the next half an hour. Careful investigation of the bodies by a somewhat reluctant Lucius and a withdrawn and mute Severus found that they had got hold of more or less everyone; three had escaped, none very important according to the blond Slytherin and none who would go far. Bellatrix had been killed by Narcissa, as planned; her husband had been taken down by Mr Weasley, in the end, and her brother by either Lupin or Tonks. Mrs Weasley had taken out one of the Carrow twins; the other had surrendered. Nobody else had needed to be killed, although there had been a lot of injuries, and nobody from the Order had died, although Fleur had been taken to St Mungo's by a rather worried Bill.<p>

"Your plan worked perfectly," Hermione told Severus in an undertone as the last of the Auror teams took their captives back to the Ministry to began sorting things out. They had also taken the bodies of Voldemort and the dead Death Eaters.

He nodded rather apathetically, but he looked a little better now than he had done earlier; mostly he just seemed tired and a little distant, although he hadn't left her side since Lucius and his family had departed. "So it would seem."

"What happens now?"

"Give it five minutes of quiet now everyone else has gone, and everyone's going to start going insane. It's going to be a hell of a party, I would imagine. Led by your little friends."

He was dead right; less than five minutes later George asked loudly, "So, Harry, back to Grimmauld Place for a party?"

Hermione had to laugh despite herself, exchanging an amused glance with Severus before looking at Harry, who was smiling in a way she had never seen before; he looked like an adult, suddenly, like the man he was growing into instead of the boy she had always known.

"Maybe in a while. But I want us all to go somewhere else first, if that's okay. I want to go to Godric's Hollow; I know there's some sort of memorial there that I've never seen. I'd like to be there with all of you."

The general consensus was that it was a lovely idea, but Hermione looked at Severus, remembering him saying flatly that he wasn't going to go back there. He was staring at nothing again, as he had been doing most of the evening, but he looked up when he felt her gaze and offered her a half-smile. "Don't look at me like that. It's fine."

"Severus, you don't have to do things any more, remember?" she reminded him gently. "Harry won't mind if we go home instead, and nobody's going to dare ask why."

"I know, but actually, it's all right," he said thoughtfully. "I don't especially want to go back, but... it feels right, in an odd way. This will be the last piece, if that makes sense."

"To say goodbye?"

"I wouldn't put it that sentimentally, no," he replied dryly, smiling a little more and relaxing as he seemed to fully come back to the real world. "Not literally, but... in a way, yes. They call it seeking closure, or something, don't they? Besides, my memories of the place are mildly horrifying, and I'd like something more neutral. And you should be there for Potter; this is important to him. Since I doubt you'll let me go anywhere by myself for a while..."

"I don't hear you complaining," she retorted, smiling and reaching for his hand. "If you're sure you're all right, then fair enough. Let's go."

* * *

><p>There was an interesting atmosphere around the ruined house when they got there. Harry had been startled to see the statue of himself and his parents, and Ron and the twins had teased him a little, but then everyone had grown quiet and were mostly watching him looking at it. The older Order members were standing to one side, lost in their own memories by the look of things, sometimes quietly pointing out a particular message that had been left there.<p>

Hermione was mostly watching Severus, who was looking at the statue with his head slightly on one side and no real expression in his eyes. She was still holding his hand and couldn't feel any particular tension in him, but she wasn't really sure what he was thinking.

Harry came over to them after a few minutes. "Thank you for being here," he said to Severus quietly. "I know you didn't want to, but... I wanted everyone to be here." He looked back at the statue. "I never realised..."

"I didn't know this was here either," Severus replied quietly. His voice was neutral, but without the brittle edge that meant he was shielding himself; he really did seem all right. "It's quite a good likeness of them, actually."

"And of me?" Harry asked a little whimsically.

"All babies look the same, Potter. Although no doubt Molly would vehemently disagree."

"What do Muggles see?" he asked. "I couldn't really focus on what was there before it changed."

"I saw a stone obelisk," Hermione offered, "but I couldn't see what it was."

"There was a war memorial here commemorating the locals who died in World War One," Severus said. "It's been Transfigured carefully and then charmed so wizards see this instead. It makes sense. That was their Great War, and this was ours."

"And now it's over," Harry said softly, and he nodded, reaching to put his arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulling her close.

"Yes. Now it's over."

Harry went back to Ginny, and the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix stood quietly for a few minutes. It was Professor McGonagall who stepped forward finally, raising her wand in the air and lighting the tip; one by one the others joined her, forming a loose circle around the memorial. Still nestled against Severus' side, Hermione raised the Elder Wand along with her own vine wand. Severus was the last, but finally he too drew his wand with his free hand and raised it as the tip ignited and they stood in silence with lit wands as fireworks began to go off in the distance.

* * *

><p><em>And that, my friends, is how a Slytherin wins a war.<em>

_Now for some fan art from _**_FionaTyne_: **fionatyne dot deviantart dot com /gallery/?catpath=scraps#/d592335

_And from **frusie: **_jeanswear dot deviantart dot com /art/Portrait-of-Hermione-317932334

_I love you guys. Seriously. So... we're almost done here, I'm sorry to say. The next update will be the final one._


	60. Chapter 60

_Some final pieces of art, from _**_TaraSindar: _**aquasindar dot deviantart dot com /art/The-Otter-and-the-Fox-Chasing-The-Sun-318311312  
><em>And from <strong>nene27: <strong>_nene27 dot deviantart dot com /#/d59qq45  
><em>And from <strong>AngelicFayth: <strong>_angelic-fayth dot deviantart dot com /art/Chasing-the-Sun-May-God-have-mercy-on-my-soul-319463662

_And so we come to the end of this story. I have had an absolute blast writing this and I want to thank you all for the support you've shown. Your reviews and messages, your art and other gifts really mean a lot to me. I never expected to get this big a response and I'm completely blown away by it. Thank you all so very much.  
><em>

_I need a short break from writing now before I begin my next story. As you know I won't start uploading it until it's mostly finished in rough, so it'll be a while, but I owe quite a few one-shots to people, so hopefully those will tide you over until the next long fic begins, and as always there will be updates on my profile letting you all know what I'm up to. I'll see you soon!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>**The first time I loved forever  
>Was when you whispered my name<br>And I knew at once you loved me  
>And all the mere fool I am<strong>

**The first time I loved forever**  
><strong>I cast all else aside<strong>  
><strong>And I bid my heart to follow<strong>  
><strong>Be there no more need to hide<strong>

**And if wishes and dreams are merely for children**  
><strong>And if love's a tale for fools<strong>  
><strong>I'll live the dream with you<strong>

**For all my life and forever**  
><strong>There's a truth I will always know<strong>  
><strong>Though my world divides and shatters<strong>  
><strong>Your love will help me by..."<strong>  
>– Beauty and the Beast, 'The First Time I Loved Forever.'<p>

* * *

><p><span>November, 1997<span>

_The last week has been absolutely insane, _Hermione told herself absently. _Even by our standards. _

She was currently loitering in the hallway in Grimmauld Place, waiting for Severus; they would shortly be going to see her parents, still in hiding in the south of France. She had borrowed Hedwig the night Voldemort had been killed so she could let them know it was all over and that she would be able to see them soon and bring them home, and since then everything had been insanely busy.

There had been a great deal for the Order to do, mostly involving the Ministry; trying to find someone to actually run things had proved a real headache, since most of the competent people were either dead or had fled the country. At the moment Professor McGonagall, Mr Weasley and Tonks were unofficially in charge of things while they tried to find someone they could name Minister, even _pro tem; _ironically, Percy's infamous anal-retentive over-organised attitude and microscopic attention to detail had proved invaluable. People were slowly returning to work and some departments of the Ministry were beginning to function once more, but it was a very gradual process, and until they got someone in charge there was a limit to what could be done.

Dealing with the prisoners was going to have to wait until what was left of the Wizengamot could be rounded up and returned to office; at the moment they had been unofficially divided into two groups. One group was at Malfoy Manor, nominally under the guard of Lupin, Bill and anyone else who could be spared but in reality subject to the Malfoys. Of course, Lucius and his wife and son were technically prisoners too, but frankly nobody had the time or resources for that, and they had been paroled with the understanding that if they ran away or attacked anyone Severus would be held responsible. It was far from ideal, but so far it was working splendidly and none of them were causing any trouble – as far as Hermione had heard, anyway, since she was staying well clear.

The other group of prisoners were actually in Azkaban, which had been cleared of everyone the Death Eaters had thrown in there. They were the ones who had refused to surrender, or the ones Severus and Lucius said had acted willingly with no need for coercion; Umbridge was amongst them, to everyone's private satisfaction. They were being treated moderately well at the moment, since there weren't many Dementors left, but it would be a while before they could be tried properly.

Hogwarts had slipped further down everyone's list of priorities at the moment. Hopefully the school would reopen after Christmas, with the loss of only a single term, but the Order were still contacting people and trying to work out who was still alive. It would be a while before they could find enough teachers to disable the last of the defences and open the castle once more, and certainly a while before Professor McGonagall was able to start sorting out how many staff members she had left and begin interviewing replacements, getting a headcount of how many students would be coming back and organising the new first years.

Hermione had spent a significant part of the past few days in St Mungo's with Poppy; between the Ministry and Azkaban there had been a lot of rescued prisoners in very poor shape and the staff had needed all the help they could get. She had dragged Ron and the twins along to help, since apart from Harry and Ginny – who were far too focused on one another to be of any help whatsoever – everyone else was too busy. Despite spending quite a long time being interrogated at length by an absolutely delighted Dilys, she was proud of how much they had managed to get done.

The rest of the time she had spent with Severus, who had dropped off the radar as much as possible and was doing his best to stay well out of everyone's way while he sorted himself out. They were staying at Headquarters with everyone else and he had been helping when he was genuinely needed, but he had been spending as much time as possible on his own coming to terms with things. For longer than Hermione had been alive, his entire life had been focused on defeating Voldemort, and now it had finally happened it was taking him a little while to adjust to his freedom. Despite her fears, he had mostly been fine, as far as she could tell; a little quieter, given to brooding a little more often, a bit jumpy, slightly more restless in his sleep and with a tendency to be clingy in bed when awake, but overall he seemed to be coping. He had warned her it probably wouldn't last, but right now things were okay, probably because there was so much going on that there wasn't really time for anyone to break down.

In addition to everything else, she had been transferring all her parents' belongings back into their house and making sure it was ready for them to come home to, working hard so she didn't have time to worry about how they were going to react when she started telling them everything that had happened. At the moment it was her personal life that was occupying her attention – Severus was nobody's idea of an 'ideal' partner, particularly in the Muggle world – but just telling her parents about the war was going to horrify them, given everything they'd been doing since she had last seen them.

A gentle fingertip pointedly tugged her lower lip away from her teeth, and she suppressed a squeak of surprise as she looked up at Severus, who raised one eyebrow and smirked faintly. "Pay attention," he scolded lightly, shaking his head. "Are you really this nervous?"

"Like you're not?" she retorted, spotting the telltale blankness of Occlumency shields in his dark eyes.

He ignored that, naturally. "Hermione, from what I observed of them, your parents are going to be so relieved that you're alive and unhurt and that the danger has passed that everything else is just details. That said, I would heartily recommend that you lie," he added mildly, "or at least gloss over the worst parts. It is hard to put a Muggle-friendly spin on bank robbing or playing around in someone's brain – what passes for Potter's brain, at least – or planning an assassination or taking part in a battle. Especially since most of your guardians were completely oblivious to most of it and had no idea where you were or what you were doing."

"And the guardian who did know about it was shamelessly taking advantage of me?" she teased. A corner of his mouth twitched in response, but he didn't smile; he really was nervous about this, she knew. Not because he cared what her parents thought of him, but because he knew it was important to her. "Anyway, you always say I'm a terrible liar."

"Most teenage girls manage to lie convincingly to at least their fathers, even if their mothers usually aren't fooled," he retorted. "And in this case they will want to accept the lie. You already know your parents don't want to hear about the reality of your world; I imagine you've been lying to them since a few months into your first year. Or did you really tell them you were almost killed by a troll?"

"Oh, shut up. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Where are we actually going?"

"France. Is that a problem? I've never tried Apparating to another country. Should we use a Portkey instead?"

"It's not necessary, no. The Apparition will take a little longer and the dizziness will be slightly more pronounced afterwards, but not enough to worry about. They are expecting us?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go."

Nodding, she took his arm and concentrated, closing her eyes and tugging them both into whirling blackness. Before she had a chance to do more than regain her balance and open her eyes, a piercing yowl sounded about an inch from her ear and she staggered as a ball of ginger fluff threw himself off the back of a chair at her. Catching her cat more or less out of reflex, Hermione buried her face in his fur and hugged him, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself not to start crying. "Hello, Crooks," she whispered hoarsely as he started purring louder than thunder, his whole body vibrating with it. "Miss me?" A moment later her parents' arms wrapped around her and she lost the battle against her tears.

By the time she managed to stop crying, she wouldn't have been at all surprised had Severus run for the hills, but in fact when she wiped her eyes and looked around he was still standing nearby, watching with an expression of carefully guarded amusement. He had also apparently been adopted, since he was scratching a still-purring Crookshanks behind one ear and had quite a few ginger hairs stuck to his coat. "Sorry, Severus," she told him sheepishly. _I did tell him I wasn't going to be emotional._

He smiled slightly, turning his head to avoid her familiar's whiskers as Crookshanks sniffed his jaw. "I'll survive." Glancing at her parents, he inclined his head. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Professor," her mother replied politely, wiping her eyes; Hermione didn't like the way she was smiling. "It's good to see you again."

Severus' eyes narrowed fractionally as he nodded. "I was able to pass on Hermione's seventeenth birthday present, but if you sent anything for her eighteenth it would not have reached us," he said carefully. "The past few months have been somewhat eventful."

Hermione's father was grinning now as he produced something from his pocket that turned out to be the bloodstone Severus had helped create what seemed like years ago. "We gathered. This was glowing fairly sedately for a long time, and then around... what, May? – it started turning all sorts of interesting colours one evening. We knew something had happened."

Her mother took up the story. "It calmed down after a couple of hours, I suppose. There have been a few days since then when it's been flashing strangely, but not as badly. What on earth have you been up to?"

"It's a very, very long story, Mum," Hermione intervened hastily, smiling ruefully at the sheer inadequacy of that description. "I will tell you, I promise, but it's going to take days. We won, and I'm safe; can't the rest wait until we're home?" Not that it was really her home any more, but still.

"Hermione Jean Granger, do you really imagine I'm going to let it go at that?" her mother asked, shaking her head and smiling. "Because I'm not really surprised to see Professor Snape with you today. In the past few months that stone has been turning another colour, you see..." She paused and smiled triumphantly. "The same shade of pink your face has just turned, in fact."

"Oh God," Hermione said in a small voice, fighting the blush desperately. That was _not _the way she had wanted them to find out. Turning, she glared at Severus. "You didn't warn me that would happen!"

"I didn't know," he protested, looking slightly embarrassed himself.

"Relax, both of you," her father said mildly. "It's not as if we didn't suspect this was coming," he added, staring directly at Severus, who began to take a keen interest in the floor.

"Is someone going to finally tell me just what he said to you last year?" she asked, disloyally relieved to have all the attention focused on her partner instead of her.

"It isn't what he said," her mother said thoughtfully, "so much as how he said it. Let's just say... we were quite confident that you were going to be well looked after."

Severus was still studying the floor as though it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, and by the tension in his shoulders was probably daydreaming wistfully of the Cruciatus curse as less painful than this. Hermione reflected with some amusement that he really was a very complicated man; he was looking visibly uncomfortable because he wanted to, because he felt it would create a better impression than his usual expressionless mask – and he was probably hoping for sympathy, too. The emotions were genuine, but he had made a calculated decision to reveal them; as always, he had expertly judged how best to play this. _Slytherins._

Following his lead, she did her best to look meek and embarrassed. "You're not... disappointed in me, are you?" Amused or not, that was a genuine question; part of her had been worrying about her parents' reaction for months now.

"Not yet," her mother replied cryptically. "Do you think you need to say anything else?"

Severus cleared his throat softly to draw attention back to him; he was working very hard to be charming, Hermione noted, watching him carefully putting Crookshanks down before squaring his shoulders and walking over to her. He wasn't shielding much and was clearly trying hard to look less forbidding and grim, helped by the cat following him and purring. Taking a breath, he reached for Hermione's left hand, twining his fingers through hers and raising it so the light caught her ring. "Such as this, perhaps?" he offered a little sheepishly.

Her parents stared at them silently for a long moment with rather stunned expressions before her mother cleared her throat. "Right, young lady, we're going to get our things and then we are going home for a _very _long talk. That means you too, Professor."

"Severus," he corrected quietly, avoiding direct eye contact.

Under cover of all the bustle as they gathered the luggage together, Hermione managed to smile at him, scooping her familiar into the crook of her arm; the half-Kneazle's purr was sounding rather hoarse now, but he showed no sign of stopping. "Well done," she whispered. "You're doing very well. I told you they'd love you."

"You owe me," he retorted in an undertone, shaking his head. "I'm no good at this, damnit."

"Actually, I think you're going to be just fine."

* * *

><p><span>August, 1998<span>

The sun was just rising when Hermione opened her eyes and stretched lazily, listening to the distant sounds of the sea as a cool breeze drifted through the open window. Later it would be blazing hot, but at the moment it was lovely. _I wonder what day it is? _She had honestly lost track. Smiling ruefully, she glanced sideways at the cause; Severus was sprawled inelegantly on his back beside her, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed, snoring softly with the sheet tangled loosely around his slender hips. Even asleep, he managed to look slightly smug – deservedly so, really, she supposed.

It was possibly still the first week of their honeymoon, but it could well be somewhere in the second week for all she knew. The days had rather blurred together in a glorious haze of sunshine, sex and good food. They were on the south coast of Cyprus; his idea, but one she had heartily approved of as soon as they arrived. He had offered to sort out the honeymoon in order to escape most of the wedding plans, evidently fearing that the combination of her mother and Mrs Weasley – plus occasional interference from Poppy Pomfrey – would be too much to cope with.

Planning a wedding while still at school and having to keep the preparations a secret had been challenging, to say the least, she remembered idly, especially since she had been spending the best part of every weekend with Severus and neither of them had really wanted to go and discuss things endlessly with her parents when there were far better things they could be doing. Keeping the wedding small had been easy enough, simply because there weren't many people she had wanted there; Harry, Ron and all the Weasleys, Professor McGonagall, Poppy, and her parents. She didn't see much of any of her other relatives and they didn't know she was a witch, so there was no reason why any of them needed to be there. It would have been nice if Hagrid could attend, but since they had picked a Muggle ceremony he might have been a little hard to explain, and in any case was happily living in France now. Tonks hadn't come since everyone had agreed it would be a very bad idea for Lupin to be there, even though he had promised to behave.

The only people Severus had invited were the Malfoys. Hermione hadn't been terribly happy about that, but he had dug his heels in, and since it was the only thing he had asked for she couldn't really say no. Lucius was his only male friend and therefore Severus had wanted him to be best man, end of discussion. He had also cheerfully admitted he just wanted to make the three of them dress as Muggles for a few hours for his own amusement. To her surprise, Hermione had rather reluctantly grown to quite like Lucius despite everything he'd done; his humour was quite similar to Severus' and it was hard not to respond to his shameless mockery when it wasn't openly malicious – besides, the clothes fittings had apparently been very entertaining; Severus had described his friend flirting with every single woman in the shop.

She had only had to meet with the other Malfoys a few times. The first meeting with Narcissa had been rather uncomfortable; either Severus or Lucius – or both, probably – had clearly intervened, since subsequent meetings had been stiffly polite but not unpleasant. Draco hadn't spoken to her at all, save for a muttered congratulations after the actual ceremony, but she would happily take that over insults.

There had been no stag or hen night, either; she had spent the final evening before the wedding with Harry and Ron in Grimmauld Place, just the three of them. In the end they hadn't really said much, but after all the three of them had been through together they hadn't needed to. Severus had gone for a drink at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade with Lucius – apparently he knew the landlord – and apparently spent the evening explaining to his friend just how the hell it had all happened, which had probably been quite a funny discussion. As far as she knew there hadn't been any excessive drinking or anything stupid.

The wedding itself was all a bit of a blur. She had spent most of it concentrating fiercely on Occlumency to stop herself getting emotional, flatly refusing to cry no matter how she felt, and from what she remembered so had Severus, but she did remember the look in his eyes when she had walked down the aisle towards him, and the way he had kept eye contact without blinking as they made their vows. Neither of them had stayed at the reception very long, shamelessly sneaking off once the formalities were done; Harry had sent Hedwig two days later informing them that everyone had got very, very drunk after they'd left and that the mail was already piling up. He hadn't mentioned the newspapers, but no doubt the _Prophet _were having the time of their lives with the scandal.

Hermione couldn't really say she cared. Stretching again, she glanced out of the window as the sky lightened; it was beautiful here. They were in a small villa right on an almost private beach, a short walk from a pretty little town whose name she couldn't pronounce; Severus spoke fluent ancient Greek and fairly passable modern, which had so far impressed the locals enough to let them avoid being ripped off in tourist traps. She had even managed to drag him down to the sea a couple of times, although only once the sun had set enough to avoid sunburn, and they had discovered that whilst sex on the beach _sounded _romantic, in reality it meant getting sand in a lot of uncomfortable places. _We've made up for it in this bed, though, _she reflected in some amusement, looking around the room. _Thank God for cleaning spells. And Silencing spells. _

So far, married life seemed to be getting off to a very good start, she mused happily. She had graduated only a couple of months ago with a list of Outstanding NEWTs, and the plan was to look into a Muggle psychology qualification, possibly combined with a Healing apprenticeship at St Mungo's, specialising in post traumatic stress. Severus was going to be her main guinea pig, at his calm suggestion; he was a lot better than he had been six months ago, but he still had trauma episodes sometimes, when he would take off by himself for a couple of hours and come back very quiet and inclined to be clingy. Once she reached that point in her studies, he was prepared to try and describe what happened to him during those episodes and how he dealt with it, which she appreciated. He had spent most of their time apart working, building contacts and sorting paperwork and preparing to set up a professional brewing company once they were settled.

But that was all in the future; more immediately they would be finding a house – no doubt complete with two portraits, who were not going to be left out of anything – and arguing about whether or not she needed to get a job to cover some of their expenses before continuing with her studies. And dealing with the no doubt sizeable mountain of hate mail that was likely to be waiting when they got back to England.

Her friends seemed to be doing pretty well at organising their lives, too. Harry and Ron were happily immersed in the Auror training program, and both showed promise according to their tutors; Fred and George were taking bets on how long it would be before Harry got around to proposing to Ginny, who was in talks with a couple of local Quidditch teams. Everyone had been a bit – unsettled – after the war, but things were almost back to normal now. Whatever 'normal' meant, anyway, she added mentally; this certainly wasn't how she had expected her life to turn out.

With his usual perfect timing, Severus yawned, distracting her; glancing over, she smiled fondly as he stretched and slowly opened his eyes to give her a sleepy smile. "Good morning. Possibly."

"Hello. I think it's morning. The sun's coming up. I don't know what day it is, though."

"Mm." Rolling onto his side, he shifted closer, untangling the sheets. "I'm sure someone will tell us once the money runs out. It's not as if either of us have anything important to do for a while."

"Bad influence," she chided, smiling, before laughing softly as he slid an arm around her waist and leaned to nuzzle at her neck. "Honestly, Severus! Aren't you worn out yet?"

"Apparently not," he murmured; she felt him smirk against her skin as he kissed the spot under her ear that always made her shiver. "You'll have to try harder... wife."

Humming in pleasure, Hermione twined her arms around his neck, wondering if she'd ever get used to being referred to that way. Signing her name was going to take a lot of getting used to, in particular; it was strange not being a Granger any more. Turning her head, she kissed him, gently biting at his lower lip. "I think you should remember you're not a teenager any more, _husband,_" she retorted, slowly trailing a hand down his chest, scratching lightly to feel him shiver. Although since the war had ended, Severus seemed to have lost years of stress and hurt; right now, as he smiled into her eyes before leaning in to kiss her again, he looked younger and happier than she had ever seen him, his whole demeanour relaxed and content and the harsh lines of his face softened.

"I am well aware of that," he replied against her mouth, bringing his hand up to caress her breasts; she could feel the slight coolness of his wedding band against her skin. "You seemed to be thinking hard when I woke," he observed between kisses as their hands wandered.

Mapping his familiar scars with her fingertips, she murmured agreement into his mouth before breaking away to kiss his jaw and moving down to his neck. "Just remembering what's happened in the last year, that's all," she said against his throat as his hands slid into her hair, simultaneously finding sensitive places on her scalp and combing out some of the worst frizz and tangles. "It doesn't really seem real unless I stop and remind myself how we got here every so often, you know?"

His hands tightened just enough to make her shiver as he shifted to press his erection against her thigh with a low sound of pleasure. "I know the feeling. It does feel rather like a dream at times," he agreed, untangling one hand from her hair to reach down between her legs.

Arching up against him with a low moan, she laughed slightly breathlessly. "If we don't both calm down soon, married life is going to be rather difficult," she pointed out, closing her eyes as his fingers moved deeper. "We are both going to need to work at some point, and if we can't keep our hands off each other..."

His husky laugh made her shiver again. "I think we'll survive."

"You might not," she told him impishly, opening her eyes again and grinning at him. "I'm sure it's every man's dream to die of heart failure in the middle of sex, but..." Kissing her to shut her up – a method that usually worked entirely too well – Severus gently drew his hand away and rolled onto his back, pulling her down on top of him without breaking the kiss.

As she shifted and sat up to straddle his hips, he grinned at her. "You do talk rubbish sometimes."

"Get used to it. You're going to have to put up with it for the next few decades at least," she retorted, sinking down to meet him as he thrust up into her once more, sliding her hands over the scars on his arms to link her fingers through his.

"I think I got the better bargain, somehow," he said reflectively, squeezing her fingers gently as they began to move together. "No regrets?"

"None whatsoever. You?"

"Of course not, love."

* * *

><p><span>March, 2005<span>

Severus put the last flask carefully into the crate and closed the lid, straightening up and stretching to work the kinks out of his back before drawing his wand to seal the box; it didn't need to be sent until tomorrow. He was glad the order was finally finished; this one had taken him most of the week. Looking around to make sure everything was tidy and where it was supposed to be, he left the former barn that had now been converted into a laboratory and headed towards the house. A meow drew his attention as Crookshanks trotted out of the undergrowth and followed him, and he glanced down at the half-Kneazle.

"What do you want, furball? You know I won't feed you until later," he informed the cat, climbing the shallow stone steps onto the porch and pausing to find his cigarettes, taking a moment to look around as he lit up.

Even in the light drizzle that was falling, he had to admit he and Hermione did live in a beautiful house. The old stone cottage was too small to be classed as a farmhouse, but it was more than large enough for the two of them, especially since his lab was in an outbuilding and not cluttering up the main house. Fixing it up and modifying it all had taken a lot of time, but he'd had plenty of free time while Hermione was studying, and he'd enjoyed it, somewhat to his surprise. He had his lab outside; inside they had a decent kitchen that doubled as a dining room, an office they both shared, and a living room that had been split into two rooms so they had an actual library lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves on all four walls. The library was somewhat pointless since there were also bookshelves in every other room of the house, but it was a token effort towards organisation. Upstairs the attic and roof space had been turned into their bedroom and bathroom, and a guest bedroom at Hermione's insistence that so far hadn't been used.

Smoking slowly, he looked around the garden, or rather gardens; it had been split into four areas. The land at the front of the house, either side of the drive, was really only maintained to make the house look presentable; neither he nor his wife were particularly interested in gardening for its own sake. At the rear of the house, where he was looking now, he had claimed a sizeable plot for potions ingredients and miscellaneous useful plants, and they grew vegetables in another section. The rest of it had mostly been left wild, and was turning into a respectable meadow, separated from the surrounding woods by a thin fence that he planned to replace with a stone wall and gate at some point.

Finishing his cigarette, he stretched again and headed into the kitchen, glancing at the clock; time to start dinner before he went to finish the paperwork for the order he'd just completed. Severus was well aware that many of their acquaintances snickered and made snide jokes about his being a house husband, and generations of chauvinistic Northern ancestors were probably spinning in their graves, but this life suited him perfectly; it wasn't much different from the way he had always lived, really. He and Hermione split the most mundane housework between them; he liked cooking more than she did and had no objections to doing most of it; and he had more free time than she did for domestic chores. Humming absently to himself, he started work, watched hopefully by Crookshanks.

It still confused him sometimes to contemplate how easily – relatively speaking – everything had worked out. That plan he had outlined to Hermione so long ago had worked almost seamlessly. The wedding had been fairly painless, even if he privately still wished nobody else had been there, and the honeymoon had been... he smirked to himself. It had been good enough that they re-enacted it every year. It had been almost two months before they made it home, utterly exhausted and suntanned – or sunburned, in his case – to deal with the impressive pile of mail that had built up in their absence and laugh over the newspapers before planning the next step.

In order to do a Muggle degree, it turned out you needed other qualifications first; Hermione had ended up having to do a handful of GCSEs and a couple of A levels over the next three years, and had been working part time at St Mungo's at the same time, as well as starting to collect notes and interviews from Order members to begin her research into post-traumatic stress. It had been a _lot _of work, even for her, and there was a limit to how much help he had been able to offer based on his amateur knowledge of Muggle literature and his by now almost totally obsolete Chemistry O level that he had taken more or less for fun nearly twenty years ago. On the other hand, half that early research had mostly been about him, and he was the anonymous star of several papers by now, since she had followed those early exams more or less instantly with a psychology degree and was about a quarter of the way through a PhD on post-traumatic stress now; Hermione Snape had become the wizarding world's only healer who was a qualified expert in trauma psychology, and a few more publications would see her in demand all over the world.

From a professional point of view, her learning had come too late to help him, but Severus was more than capable of being his own therapist and pharmacist when it was necessary. He hadn't needed any specific help from her; just knowing she was there had been enough for him to slowly and carefully put his shattered psyche back together. He still had odd mood swings occasionally, and sometimes his dreams still jolted him awake shaking in the middle of the night, but he was genuinely all right, for the first time in more years than he could recall. Provided no more insane soul-splitting dictators arose to tear the world apart again, his life was going to turn out just fine, despite truly unbelievable odds.

Still humming idly to himself as he finished tidying up, he left the food cooking and headed to the comfortable clutter of their shared office, mostly taken up by their desks placed facing one another in the centre of the room to make space for all the shelves and cabinets around the walls. Severus liked this room for its blend of Muggle and wizard; there was a computer and telephone in one corner and the books ranged from Potions and Healing journals to medicine, psychology and chemistry textbooks, and he had two large Muggle metal filing cabinets against one wall holding all his customer records and business paperwork. His new piano, a gift from Hermione on his fortieth birthday, had been in here until recently but they had finally managed to fit it into the living room after shifting a couple more bookshelves out of the way. There was also quite a sophisticated safe built into the wall behind the computer table that contained the Elder Wand; occasionally one or other of them would spend a couple of days playing around with it.

Crossing to one of the filing cabinets now, he began flicking through one of the drawers, sparing a baleful glance for the computer; it was only a couple of months ago Hermione had deemed him adept enough to be trusted to use it without her nearby. That was one area of Muggle technology that had passed him by, and anything other than typing up notes or basic Internet searches still left him more or less totally in the dark. Paper and pen was good enough for him. Finding the invoice he wanted, he settled down at his desk to add up the costs for this latest order, automatically swivelling sideways in his chair to allow Crookshanks to jump onto his lap.

"This is a disgustingly domestic scene," a voice observed mildly from the wall, and Severus glanced up with a wry smile. Phineas and Dilys each had a frame in the office now, which had not been easy to set up; after they had annoyed him one too many times, both of them had been barred from accessing any other pictures in the house. He liked the portraits, and admitted he owed them both quite a lot, but that didn't mean he wanted them constantly in his life.

"You say that virtually every time you visit," he noted, leaning back in his chair and absently stroking the purring cat.

"It's usually true, that's why. Still all on your own?"

"For another hour or two, probably; she said something about a Floo call to Berlin. Is this a social call, or has Minerva sent you with a message again?"

"The latter; she still wants you to visit so she can show off everything that's changed."

"I was there a year ago."

"Tell her, not me."

"Fine, I'll see if I can spare half a day during the Easter break. Any news to report anywhere?"

"You heard Ginevra's pregnant?"

"Yes," Severus replied with a certain heavy irony. Potter and his wife had visited to break the news last week; he hadn't realised Hermione could make sounds at that pitch before. Crookshanks had spent the next hour sulking under the bed after being terrified out of his fur by the noise.

"I think that was the only new gossip. It's all getting terribly dull now you're all healing and getting on with normal lives, you know. Any news here?"

"In the two days since Dilys last stopped in? No, strangely enough, unless you'd like to hear the full details of my latest shipment to the apothecary in Hogsmeade."

"No thank you. Have you considered getting a hobby, Severus?"

He snorted softly. "I have several, thank you. Bugger off and stop complaining."

"Fine," Phineas huffed, departing in his usual haughty style, and Severus returned to his paperwork, signing his name at last before leaning back and idly rubbing behind Crookshanks' ears. In fact, he finally had time to devote to his hobbies properly; one corner of his lab had become an art studio, and he had a few academic projects tentatively in development, although he had to admit his favourite hobby was distracting his wife from whatever she was trying to focus on.

As though the thought had been a summons, the front door opened and closed, and Crookshanks jumped off his lap and trotted out of the room to greet his mistress. Standing and stretching, Severus followed suit, leaning against the wall in the hallway and watching Hermione shrugging out of her coat. It was obviously raining harder now, judging by the way her hair had frizzed, he noted in quiet amusement. "Hello."

"Don't talk to me just yet, I need to write something down before I forget it," she told him absently, ducking past him and heading for the office; smiling wryly, Severus followed her, waiting patiently while she scribbled a hasty note and tossed it into the tray on her desk. "Sorry. Okay. Hello, love," she said apologetically, kissing his cheek.

"Busy day?" he asked dryly, and she made a face at him.

"One of those days that leave me wondering why the hell I let you and Poppy talk me into this. They want me to go out to Germany in May and give a speech at some Healing conference I've never even heard of!"

"If it's anything like the Potions conferences I used to attend, it's just an excuse for a booze-up," he told her, sliding an arm around her waist and leaning against her desk. "Everyone there will have read every piece of research you've ever published and decided what they want to ask you weeks in advance; you could stand up there and recite your times-tables and it would have the same effect. It'll be all expenses paid and a free bar, though."

"Easy for you to say, scrounger," she chided him, wrapping her arms around him in return and leaning against him with a sigh. "Some of us haven't been in academia long enough to risk insulting people by saying no."

He smirked. "That's the advantage of being the best in your field, Hermione – nobody can make you do anything you don't want to do. And as I keep reminding you, you're the only one in your field, so you can do whatever the hell you like."

"Well, right now, I want a glass of wine and a bath before dinner."

"You do have such clever ideas," he murmured, and she gave him an amused look.

"I didn't say you were invited, Severus."

_You didn't have to. _After this many years, he certainly knew her invitation when he heard it. He only gave her a slow smile in response, watching her eyes darkening slightly before she smiled back at him.

"Fine, you win, but give me half an hour to enjoy a proper soak first."

"Yes, _dear._"

As he listened to her disappearing upstairs, Severus smiled to himself, still savouring the relative novelty of not feeling angry or hurt or miserable; despite their years together, he wasn't about to take this happiness for granted. He finally had everything he had ever wanted, and he intended to keep it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>fin.<strong>_


End file.
